


Dreaming a Different Dream

by EtoileGarden



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Babies, Banter, Dreaming, Maybe a bit of fluff, Maybe a bit of romance, Other, canon until it's not, magic magic magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-05-28 04:21:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15040607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EtoileGarden/pseuds/EtoileGarden
Summary: His first thought upon waking up is this; ‘Oh fuck’.His second thought upon waking up is; ‘Oh shitting fuck.’His third thought upon waking up is; ‘Gansey is going to kill me.’





	1. Chapter 1

The main thing that Ronan has come to know about his dreams, is that the rules that define how he dreams don’t tend to stay very rule like. For instance, the one thing he knows for certain about his dreaming, is that he has to want to take the thing out. He has to really, really want it. He has to hold it in his hand and he has to know it, has to be able to make it real to him before he can make it physically real. The next thing he knows most about his dreams, is that you often want strange, strange, fucking strange things in your dreams. Examples of this were littered all around his bedroom, both here at Monmouth, and at the Barns. He’d dreamed up plenty of stuff that just went straight into the rubbish, plenty of stuff that he couldn’t work out what it was even though his dreamself had obviously decided it was very important. He’d once come out clutching a rubber duck that recited shakespeare, struck with the very solemn understanding that that and that alone would save the wigglyponks from King Gruesome the 4th. He had been 14 at the time. So, he knew, had known for years, that he had a habit of bringing strange things that (once awake) he didn’t really want that much, out of his dreams. 

 

Some of these things (that he didn’t want while awake) turned out to be things that actually he did kind of want, even if his conscious brain told him he was a fucking idiot. Such as moss scented hand cream for idiot workaholics. That particular dream had sat in his drawer for a week before he gave in to the fact that he did very much want to give it to Adam. 

 

Other things were things he wanted most while he was asleep, still wanted while awake, but didn’t want once he had them. See; knotted white scars up his arms, gouged divots in his shoulders. 

 

Still other things were objects which he wanted well enough, but forgot about, or simply became less fascinated with within the next few days. It didn’t mean that they hadn’t been important, it just meant something else was more important. 

 

Anyway. He had been bringing less out lately, less frivolous things anyway. It was harder to dream light and stupid things when he was worried he would unconsciously yearn for claws and blood again. Still, he brought out Chainsaw - who was an asshole and absolutely lovely, and hand cream, and epi-pens, and mixtapes, and all sorts of things that once he was holding with awake hands he thought of as a little too revealing of how deep his affections were. It was just easier, sometimes, to tell himself very firmly, that he didn’t want anything. To go through his dreams with his hands in his metaphorical pockets, as if he is a (smarter) Aladdin in a cave, where he knows not to touch anything. 

 

The problem with this is that Ronan, though very stubborn, though very loyal, though very brave, is also easily tempted into sympathy. His dreams had proved that again, and again, although he wasn’t sure if his multiple attempts at dreaming bee repelling objects for Gansey was more an empathetic action, or motivated by his own fear of losing Gansey and becoming alone. 

 

This is how, and why, Ronan finds himself in an otherwise unremarkable dream, tearing through a calm Cabeswater, hunting for the source of the crying. He might have thought it had been Orphan Girl, but she had been keeping him company when he first heard it, chewing flowers in the edge of his vision, and was now galloping along behind him. 

 

It’s difficult to tell where the noise is coming from, and what it’s coming from, the sound of it echoing around in the heavily wooded area, getting caught in deep foliage and bouncing off of hollow trees. For all his ears know, he’s running the exact wrong way. The portion of himself that understands his dreams tells him he’s going the right way, though. 

 

Really, he shouldn’t be as freaked out about this as he is. His dreams have always been populated with wild life, with insects and birds and 4 legged animals all around. He’s seen his dream birds catch dream prey and gobble it down. This was likely just one of those, having a mild dream-animal crisis. It would probably be completely fine if Ronan were to just ignore it. 

 

However, Ronan was a Lynch, and all the Lynch children had been taught two things that were currently resonating loudly in Ronan’s mind, which, seeing as he was inside a dream, meant it was echoing around the forest alongside the crying. 

 

Niall Lynch went first, like he did in many things, his loud words of wisdom were these; ‘Lynches don’t back down.’ 

 

Aurora Lynch, ever quieter and subtler than he husband had this to say; ‘What’s the point of laughter if not to share it?’ 

 

Maybe neither of these things appear to quite correlate with this particular situation, but to Ronan, it meant two very simple things. He was faced with a problem, so therefore he had to fix it, and, the problem he had to fix meant fixing the crying. 

 

The closer he gets to the sound, the more worried he gets. It’s sounding less and less like some small fox caught in a root, or a bear cub who’s lost its parent, and more and more like -

 

“Infans ?” Orphan Girl asks.

 

They’ve come to a small clearing, or rather, a small pond - but it’s so shallow it’s more like a marshy clearing. Ronan spots tadpoles darting through the sheen of water, whisking their way through the grass that’s only just not poking out over the top. Can hear the sudden absence of frogs croaking as they pause to evaluate if he’s dangerous or not. Can see, right in the middle of this dressed up puddle, the source of the crying. 

 

His first instinct is to stop and stare in complete and utter shock. His second instinct is to stomp through the shallow water, scaring into flight dragonflies and crane flies and a small hidden bird, to scoop it up, because who the fuck would just leave a baby in the middle of a pond? If it rolled over it would fucking drown, everyone knows that babies can drown in just the fucking idea of water. What the fuck. He gets as far as this working on instinct, the baby dripping muddy water down his front, still wailing, though a little less, and then his brain begins yelling at him about mostly WHAT THE FUCK. He has to remind his brain, that this is his own dream, so really, there was no point in yelling at Ronan, he simply lived in it, this was all his brain’s fault. 

 

This isn’t a useful argument to have with himself. 

 

Orphan Girl tugs at his damp sleeve with one hand, tugs at the baby’s chubby foot with the other. 

 

“Ne somnum ,” she says solemnly, and Ronan jolts himself out of his befuddled daze to stare down at her, a little pissed off. 

 

“No,” he says, loud over the crying in his face, “I’m well aware that it’s not asleep. What’s this… kid doing here? Do you know?” 

 

Orphan Girl makes a noise that’s a little too animalistic to be a laugh, “Non est meum ,” she says. 

 

Ronan rolls his eyes, attempts to readjust the slippery bundle of fat and tears in his arms, and begins to splash his way back onto relatively dry land. 

 

“Yeah, ‘cos I totally thought you were its mum,” Ronan says sarcastically, and Orphan Girl kicks at the ground behind him to send muddy water and tadpoles up his back. “Oi!” 

 

“Tu ad matrem suam ?” She asks, and Ronan can’t work out if she’s teasing or not. Her face is too carefully calm to tell. 

 

“No,” he snaps, “don’t be stupid,” 

 

“Et ego non sum stultus!” She protests loudly, “Tu es !” 

 

“Whatever,” Ronan grumbles, jiggles the baby in his arms again, still trying to figure out how to hold it most comfortably. He hadn’t held a child for a long time, especially not one this young, or wet. “What am I supposed to do with it?” 

 

“Puella ,” Orphan Girl corrects, and Ronan shuffles the baby round again. 

 

“Oh,” he says, “so it is. So, am I meant to find like - some weird tree trunk specifically for babies in here? What is this? Some odd mind video game?” 

 

Orphan Girl looks at him as if she can’t figure out how she came from a mind as dumb as his. 

 

“No,” she says, her favourite English word, “periculo nimis .” 

 

“What?” Ronan asks, frowns at her, “Too dangerous for what? Could you give me a plain answer for once? Or -” he adds, glancing around at the canopy of trees above them, “- Could you? God.” 

 

Orphan Girl sighs at him, then pats his arm, then suddenly jumps in alarm as the first of the monsters starts to scream from somewhere through the trees. Like with the baby’s crying, it’s difficult to tell where exactly the noise is coming from, from which direction the monsters will appear from. 

 

“Relinquo ,” Orphan Girl hisses at him, she’s tugging hard at his arm, “surgit .” 

 

“I can’t wake up,” Ronan hisses back, ducking down to the damp mossy ground as if becoming smaller will hide him from his monsters. It at least makes him feel like he’s protecting the baby from them, though he knows this will do nothing to keep it safe when the monsters arrive. “I can’t leave the baby here for them.” 

 

“Et relinquam mihi ,” Orphan Girl points out sourly, and Ronan sighs, 

 

“You live here,” Ronan points out, realises this is probably not a good argument to make when he had also found the baby here. Unlike the baby though, Orphan Girl has always been here. “You know how to be safe,” he says, “this baby doesn’t.” 

 

“Igitur ,” Orphan Girl says, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world, “surgit.” 

 

Ronan has opened his mouth to continue arguing when the first monster appears through the trees. He doesn’t pause to think. He just goes by instinct, which tends to follow more along his mother’s advice than his father’s. He lets himself wake up. 

  
  


-

  
  


His first thought upon waking up is this; ‘Oh fuck’. 

 

His second thought upon waking up is; ‘Oh shitting fuck.’ 

 

His third thought upon waking up is; ‘Gansey is going to kill me.’  

  
  


-

  
  


The baby is miraculously quiet against his chest where it’s caught in his arms while his body lies stiff in paralysis. Something about the shift from dream to reality had calmed it, or possibly from outside to inside. He hoped at least. He hoped he hadn’t fucked shit up so badly he’d brought back a dead baby. This horrible thought in itself is enough for him to unlock his arms, to snap open his eyes, to pull himself up into sitting. The baby is alive, awake, staring at him. The both of them are outrageously damp and muddy. There’s a tadpole on his sheets. Also, he’s a fucking idiot with a baby in his arms. A small one. 

 

“Fuck,” he says, experiences a moment of horror that he’d sworn in front of a baby, and then shrugs when he realises the baby is definitely too young to understand. Anyway. It’s not like it had parents around who were going to get pissed off at him for swearing in front of their baby. “The fuck,” he says, “what the fuck,” he expounds, “what the actual fucking fuck am I supposed to do with you?” he asks, shifting around to hold the baby out at arms length so he can look at it. Its head flops around dangerously and he panics a little, quickly brings it back to rest against his chest. Something, something babies can’t hold their heads up. What the fuck. 

 

“Ok,” he says in a low voice, the baby is starting to make soft noises that sound like the beginning of a sobbing breakdown, “ok baby, ok, what to do? You’re so wet and muddy. Wanna shower?” 

 

The baby, seeing as it is a baby, and therefore has no grasp of language or conversations, simply hiccups, working its way up to real crying. 

 

“Well,” Ronan says brightly and a little hysterically, “I want a shower. Let’s have a shower. Come on, baby, don’t cry, let’s go.” 

 

He has this tiny little hope, that maybe, if the baby is clean and dry when he surprises Gansey with its existence, maybe it would be less of a drama. They make it to the bathroom with little to no incident, just the baby making small sniffing noises and Ronan making small panicked noises, and his damp feet making small squelching noises. 

 

Once in the bathroom, door closed, Noah appears, perched on the bathtub, a wry expression on his face. 

 

“Y’know,” he says, “when I felt you sneaking around, I was super not expecting a baby to be your sneak partner.” 

 

“Fuck,” Ronan bites out, surprise exploding out of him. He’s lucky he doesn’t drop the baby. “Fuck, Noah, learn to like - fucking astral knock or something, God.” 

 

“You have a baby,” Noah replies flatly, hopping up from the tub and coming closer so he can peer into Ronan’s arms at the pond scum and tear dripping crying child. “Why do you have a baby?” 

 

“Fuck knows,” Ronan replies eloquently, “I didn’t mean to have a baby.” 

 

“Should’a worn a condom,” Noah says, and Ronan scowls at him. “Honestly though,” Noah adds as Ronan crosses over the room to turn the shower on, “why did you bring it out with you?” 

 

“I didn’t mean to,” Ronan grumbles, starts trying to undress himself while still holding the baby safely. “I panicked.” 

 

“You panicked.” Noah repeats, watching Ronan attempting to shimmy his sweat pants off. 

 

“There were fucking - fucking horrors,” Ronan grunts, manages to kick the pants off, “right there. I was scared that it would get hurt.” 

 

“Right,” Noah says, “I guess that’s probably the best thing you could have done in the scenario.” 

 

“Fuck off,” Ronan mumbles, “are you solid enough to hold the baby while I take my shirt off?” 

 

“Um,” Noah says, “uh. I’m not sure. If we try and I’m not, I don’t want to drop your dream baby on the ground. Would it bounce?” 

 

“No,” Ronan snaps, “God. It’s a baby. Fine. Sit down on my sweatpants, so if you do fucking ... go all foggy on us, it won’t fall far.” 

 

Noah sits down agreeably enough, and Ronan crouches down to pass the snuffling baby over, adjusting Noah’s arms so as to hold the head up. Then he stands up and swiftly pulls his shirt off, chucks it across the room in the vague direction of the washing machine, and sticks his hand out under the shower to gauge temperature. 

 

“Why do you keep calling her it?” Noah asks, staring down at the baby in his arms, gently poking one chubby, dirty cheek, “Were you too awkward to check gender?” 

 

“Fuck off,” Ronan sighs, crouching back down in front of Noah and gently lifting the baby off of him again, “it’s just easier. Calling it, it.” 

 

“Why?” Noah asks, swiveling around on his ass (the sweatpants a perfect spinner on the tile floor) “So you don’t get attached?” 

 

“Because I don’t want to have a baby,” Ronan snaps, holds said baby close to his chest while he steps into the tub, back to the spray so he can ease it into the idea of falling water a little slower, “I don’t know, Noah, just - I fucking don’t know.” 

 

“Blue’s gonna be mad at you if you keep calling her it,” Noah points out cheerfully, leans over the side of the tub to run his fingers through the water beginning to pool there. “Why are you two so dirty anyway?” 

 

“I found it - God fine - her in a fucking mud puddle of a pond,” Ronan grumbles, turning slowly sideways into the water, hand cupping the baby’s head. 

 

“Huh,” Noah says slowly, “is there some myth or like, fairy tale, about finding babies in mud puddles?” 

 

“I don’t fucking know,” Ronan snaps, the baby lets out a surprised sounding noise as water hits her back, “all I know is that my brain is an asshole. Or Cabeswater is an asshole.” 

 

“Hm,” Noah says, flicks at the water absentmindedly. 

 

“It- she didn’t belong there,” Ronan says after a few moments of the baby squirming against his chest, “I have no fucking clue where she does belong, or why the fuck she was in my dream in the first place, but I know for a fact that she doesn’t belong in the dream. She was wrong there.” 

 

“Wrong there?” Noah asks, “How do you mean?” 

 

“God,” Ronan says, starts rubbing his hand carefully up and down the baby’s back to try and wipe some of the dirt off of her without accidentally dropping her, “I don’t know. It was just how I felt. Like - 89% of my dreaming is just feeling.” 

 

“So,” Noah says slowly, “she’s your kid?” 

 

“Fuck off,” Ronan snaps, “I’m not her fucking father. I’m just - I don’t know.” 

 

“What are you going to do, then?” 

 

“I don’t know, Noah,” Ronan grinds out, “God, how many times do I have to repeat this? I have no clue. Maybe Gansey will know.” 

 

“Maybe Gansey will know what?” Gansey asks from the doorway. He’s yawning, his glasses pushed up in his tousled hair. “Why’re you guys so bloody loud? Do you have any idea how early it is?” 

 

“Uh,” Noah says, grins up at Ronan, “not really, I don’t have a very firm grasp of linear time.” 

 

“Gansey,” Ronan says, “don’t freak out.” 

 

“Don’t freak out?” Gansey repeats, freaking out. He fumbles with his glasses on top of his head, pulls them on, and squints over at Ronan. From the doorway, Ronan knows only his back is visible. “What am I not freaking out about?” 

 

“Fuck,” Ronan says, “look, just, know that this was an accident, yeah?” 

 

“You are really not calming me down here,” Gansey mutters darkly, walking cautiously into the room towards the three of them, “are you bleeding again? What’s going on?” 

 

“You ready to be an uncle?” Noah asks once Gansey reaches the tub. Gansey frowns down at him in confusion, and then Ronan turns slightly to offer Gansey a look at the baby he’s holding. 

 

“What,” Gansey says, takes his glasses off as if not being able to see will suddenly make the baby disappear, “Whose baby did you steal, and why?” he asks. 

 

“The fuck,” Ronan sighs, turns back around to keep the baby under the warmth of the water, “I didn’t steal anyone’s fucking baby, I took her from my dream. Accidentally.” 

 

“The fuck,” Gansey repeats, “the fuck - the - Ronan - what the fuck?” 

 

“Don’t,” Ronan says, “I know. I know, I’ve already gone through all the what the fucks. I don’t know.” 

 

“Why would you bring a baby out?” Gansey cries, “What kind of idiot idea was that? A baby raven is one thing, a baby baby is another!” 

 

“I believe the technical term is a human baby,” Noah points out mildly from the floor. Gansey ignores him. 

 

“How are we supposed to explain this to anyone? We have a fake real baby! We’re all boys, we can’t have had a secret pregnancy!” 

 

“God,” Ronan snorts, “I was more worried about what we’re going to do with a baby rather than how we’re going to explain it to the rest of the world.” 

 

“Why didn’t you just dream up a mother for it?” Gansey demands, “Can’t you do that in your dreams? You dreamed the baby up, why not a parent?” 

 

“I didn’t dream the baby up!” Ronan objects, “I just found her! Fuck, Gansey, what would you have fucking done if you found a baby in Cabeswater and then was fucking attacked by monsters?” 

 

Gansey pauses to frown, to shake his head, to drop to the floor next to Noah and to put his face into his hands. 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan snaps, “exactly.” 

 

“Maybe Blue’s family will take her,” Gansey mumbles into his hands. 

 

“Excuse me?” Ronan snaps, almost drops the baby again in shock, “The fuck, Dick?” 

 

“It makes sense!” Gansey protests, “We’re fucking teenagers, we can’t look after a baby. What are you going to do with her while you’re at school? How are you going to feed her? They know how to look after babies, and, they’re all involved in magic and shit like that, they’ll know more than anyone how to raise a dream baby.” 

 

“Well fuck you,” Ronan says, “I kinda think that actually? Being the fucking dreamer and the fucking son of a dream that maybe I would know more about that than some smart ass witches.”

 

“Ronan,” Gansey warns, “please don’t let your need to be right distract you from the fact that those women are actually parents and have parenting experience.” 

 

Ronan has to at least admit that probably most of the people at 300 Fox Way would be better at showering this baby than he is. He’s having a hard enough time holding onto the slippery child, let alone being able to clean it as well. 

 

“I don’t feel comfortable,” he mumbles, “handing her over, without knowing, at least, why I have her.” 

 

Gansey is silent for a long while then. Ronan focuses on trying to clean the two of them, on not dropping her, on not panicking himself. 

 

“You think you have her for a reason, then?” Gansey asks eventually. 

 

“I don’t know,” Ronan says, for the fucking millionth time, “I have no clue, Gans. I just know that - that I’m not comfortable with not knowing.” 

 

Gansey sighs, Noah pats his back.

 

“I’m going to call Adam,” he says, “and then I am going to google what to feed her. How old is she?” 

 

“Uh,” Ronan says “I dunno? Like - I dunno. A couple of months? Fuck, Gans, do I look like I can judge how old a baby is?” 

 

“No,” Gansey says, “that’s why I’m worried about all of this.” 

 

“Ah that’s what you’re worried about,” Ronan jibes, turns the shower off, “I get it now. Pass me a towel would you?” 

  
  


-

  
  


Adam turns up 45 minutes later. He’s wearing an incredibly harried expression, and is carrying a couple of shopping bags with him. Ronan’s in his room when Adam gets to Monmouth, can see Adam through his window, crossing the car park, glancing around like he’s expecting someone to jump out at him. Ronan had spent the last half hour attempting to stop the baby from crying, and Gansey had, mere moments before Adam arrived, asked him to please attempt it in his bedroom so Gansey could hear himself think. The baby is still crying, grating sobbing heaves of it, so Ronan doesn’t go out to greet Adam. Thinks it’ll probably go down better if Gansey can explain the situation without the crying baby there. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to stop her from crying. He figures she’s probably hungry, or tired, or something. He knows it’s not her nappy, because she doesn’t have a nappy on, just a hand towel pinned around her lower half and it’s still reassuringly dry against Ronan’s hands. He’s dressed her in one of his t-shirts, and she’s swimming in it, so maybe that’s what’s got her so upset. He’d be upset too if he was forced to wear someone else's dumb clothes that didn’t even fit. 

 

Noah had followed them into Ronan’s room when they’d been sent away, but was simply sitting on Ronan’s bed watching Ronan pace his room rocking the baby. Unhelpful, to say the least. Chainsaw too is simply watching Ronan and his new dream. She looks very curious, but far more wary than Noah. 

 

“You could help,” he snaps over at Noah, has to raise his voice to be heard over the crying. He can hear Adam talking with Gansey, just barely. 

 

“I really couldn’t,” Noah sighs, looks sincerely upset about this, “I don’t trust myself to hold her and not drop her.” 

 

“You didn’t drop her before,” Ronan points out, switching positions around to see if she’d stop crying if he held her on his other shoulder. 

 

“I held her for barely even a minute before,” Noah points out back at him, “I don’t want to be responsible for giving her brain damage.” 

 

“Ugh,” Ronan grunts, too frazzled to be able to come up with a proper response. 

 

There’s a knock on the door, then Adam opens it and pokes his head round. 

 

“Hey,” he says, “Gansey’s just calling Blue. Can I come in? I bought nappies and shit.” 

 

“Hopefully just the nappies,” Noah says, “I think she’ll provide the shit.” 

 

“Damn,” Adam says, too busy staring at the baby in Ronan’s arms to properly appreciate Noah’s joke, “Gansey told me on the phone, and just now in the lounge, but I don’t think I really believed it until now.” 

 

“You didn’t hear her crying?” Ronan snaps, a little too wound up to appreciate Adam’s wonder, “She’s got a pretty fucking good set of lungs on her.” 

 

“Honestly,” Adam shrugs, “between my ear and how Chainsaw sounds when she’s pissed off, I couldn’t tell if it was a baby or not. Really, it could have been some of your godawful music.” 

 

“You’re a shit hole,” Ronan says, “do you know how to calm a fucking baby down? She’s been crying for like half an hour straight. It’s like she doesn’t even need to breathe.” 

 

“No,” Adam frowns, holds himself against the door like he’s afraid Ronan’s just going to hand the baby over, “like I’ve ever held a kid. I have nappies here though,” he repeats, “and formula, and bottles. Gansey gave me a whole list of shit to get.” 

 

“Yikes,” Noah says, gazing at the bulging bags Adam’s still clutching, “does Gansey realise that we just have one baby? Not an army of babies?” 

 

“Thanks,” Ronan mumbles, Adam probably can’t hear him over the noise of the baby, so he raises his voice, “can you get the nappies out? She’s just wearing a towel now and I don’t want to be peed on.” 

  
  


-

  
  


Getting the nappy on is a group effort. Ronan lies the squalling baby down on the bed, prays that she doesn’t take this opportunity to use his sheets as a bathroom. Noah instructs from the sidelines, Ronan does the application, and Adam offers advice and hands things over. It’s not exactly a difficult task, but, when faced with it for the first time, it feels ridiculously difficult. Especially while she’s crying the whole way through. 

 

“Milk?” Adam asks loudly, he’s starting to look frazzled as well and he’s barely been here five minutes, “She’s probably hungry.” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan replies, just as loud, scoops her back up into his arms and presses her to his chest. She quietens down just a little bit at being picked up again, but keeps crying lowly. “Does the formula come with instructions?” 

 

“Yeah,” Adam says, “or like, kinda. It doesn’t say not to make it in the bathroom though, but I bet that’s implied.” 

 

“Well fuck that,” Ronan says, “what kinda people don’t have their kitchen in the bathroom?” 

 

“Civilised, lovely people,” Noah mumbles, “come on, I know how to make the milk up. Adam can mix it while Ronan holds Lizzy.” 

 

“Lizzy?” Ronan asks, follows heavily on Noah’s heels as Noah makes his way to the bathroom. Adam grabs the bags and follows the three of them. “Her name isn’t Lizzy.” 

 

“I don’t like just calling her ‘her’, or ‘the baby’,” Noah protests, “how about Rosie?” 

 

“How about we take our time in giving her a name?” Ronan replies sourly, “Most people have nine fucking months to think about it.” 

 

“You can’t call her ‘the baby’ for nine months,” Adam says. 

 

Gansey’s still on the phone as they traipse back through the living area, and he mouths what looks like an apology at Ronan, or maybe at Adam, makes a listening noise into the receiver. 

  
  


-

  
  


Ronan perches on the edge of the still damp tub, making futile shushing noises at the baby while attempting to pay attention to Noah directing Adam in making up a bottle of formula for her. It’s difficult to pay attention while you’re being cried at. 

 

“Why do you know all this stuff?” Adam asks, he’s waiting on the water to heat. Ronan also wants to know the answer to this. Noah shrugs. 

 

“I had sisters,” he says, “and a lot of younger cousins. I changed a lot of nappies while I was alive. Now of course I have a good excuse not to.” 

 

“Ah,” Adam says, “well, good thing you know, otherwise who knows how lost Lynch would be right now.” 

 

“I’d be fine,” Ronan snaps, despite the fact that he probably looks as freaked out about all of this as he feels, despite the fact that he still hasn’t managed to make her stop crying. 

 

“Sure,” Noah snorts, “you’d be able to handle Katie just fine without me.” 

 

“God,” Ronan snaps back, “stop trying to name her.” 

 

“Someone has to!” 

 

“I just got off the phone with Maura,” Gansey announces from the doorway, cutting into what Ronan was planning to be a lengthy argument, “she finds this simultaneously hilarious and horrifying, and is currently mad at you, Ronan, for not wanting to hand the baby over, and at me, for suggesting it in the first place.” 

 

“And does she have anything she’s mad at Adam about?” Noah asks cheerfully, turning the sink taps on and off just to add to the general mish mosh of the atmosphere. 

 

“Adam’s perfect,” Gansey says distractedly, he’s staring at the baby in Ronan’s lap as if he’d been vaguely hoping that it would disappear while he was on the phone. “What’s she upset about?” 

 

“She’s probably hungry,” Adam says, screwing the top of the bottle on, “I think this is done right, does anyone want to trial run it before we give it to an actual defenceless baby who I don’t want to poison?” 

 

“Give it here,” Ronan grunts, holds his hand out for it, “I’ll taste test it,” he adds irritably when Adam doesn’t hand it over immediately. 

 

It tastes around about how Ronan assumed formula milk would taste, and wasn’t too hot, so he supposed it was probably alright. 

 

“Lucy’s a dream baby,” Noah says thoughtfully, “do you think she even drinks milk? What if she just likes raisins?” 

 

“It’s a bit too late to be suggesting that kind of bullshit,” Ronan snaps, trying to reason with the baby to get her into a feeding position, “I didn’t purposefully dream her, so I think she’s probably just an average baby.” 

 

“Oh sure,” Adam says, “an average baby who you discovered in a froggy puddle in your own head.” 

 

“Fuck up,” Ronan snaps, nudges the baby’s open, very screamy, mouth with the teat of the bottle. She immediately snaps her attention to it, her screams lessen a fraction, and she latches on with such an intensity that Ronan’s half worried she’ll suck the bottle right out of his hand. She continues crying for a few moments even while sucking on it, and then lapses into silence. The bathroom/kitchen/laundry rings with the absence of crying. 

 

“Hold the bottle up more,” Noah says, “you don’t want to give her air bubbles.” 

 

“Uh,” Ronan says, tips his wrist a bit, “like this?” 

 

“Yeah,” Noah says. 

 

They’re all silent again. It’s a bit ridiculous how soothing it is not having a baby crying. 

 

Gansey breaks the silence, with fighting words. They’re not meant to be fighting words, but he’s an idiot if he thinks he can get away with them not being taken as such. 

 

“Oh, Adam,” he says, “do you have the receipt from the shop? I’ll get the money to you.” 

 

“No it’s fine,” Adam says, very much a lie, “you asked for a favour, it was a favour.” 

 

“No,” Gansey shakes his head, “no the buying them was a favour, I have to pay you back for this.” 

 

“You really don’t,” Adam objects, “I don’t see why you should be the one to have to pay for this stuff when-” 

 

“Hey,” Ronan snaps, immediately softens his tone when the baby in his arms jolts, “I’m paying Adam back,” he continues lowly, “seeing as the baby is my responsibility.” 

 

“Ah-” Adam begins, and then shrugs, “yeah sure. I’ll get the receipt to you.” 

 

Gansey opens his mouth as if he’s about to argue about this, but then shakes his head. “Lynch,” he says firmly, “we’re not going to let you shoulder this responsibility alone.” 

 

“Something, something a village to raise a child,” Noah chips in with a grin. Adam rolls his eyes, perches on the edge of the tub next to Ronan and peers at the baby. 

 

“Unluckily for Julia, we’re not a village, we’re a handful of stupid students.” 

 

“Speak for yourself,” Noah says, “I’m dead.” 

 

“Oh, sorry,” Adam snorts, “sorry kid, you’re in the tender care of a ghost, a post-dead history nerd, a grumpy dreamer, and a workaholic.”

 

“Don’t forget the yogurt fiend,” Ronan mumbles. The baby’s eyes are slowly closing. It’s the most exciting thing that’s happened to him all week. 

 

“I resent being labeled as ‘post-dead,” Gansey grumbles, then, “Jane’s coming over, by the way, Maura is sending her with more supplies apparently. Calla will drop her off.” 

 

“Oh God,” Ronan says, “Calla’s going to come in and take over, isn’t she?” 

 

“Yeah,” Noah says. 

 

“Most likely,” Gansey shrugs. 

 

“Probably tell you to tuck your shirt in, too,” Adam adds, tugs at the hem of Ronan’s singlet which definitely didn’t need tucking in. 

 

“Is she going to sleep?” Gansey asks, “She’s being very quiet.” 

 

“I think so,” Ronan says, “she must have been fucking hungry.” 

 

“Well,” Adam says, “I would be too if I’d spent all morning lying in a puddle.” 

 

“Do you think she was… born,” Gansey says slowly, “or did she just pop up like a toadstool? Or maybe like, no I don’t know.” 

 

“I don’t know,” Ronan repeats, “Orphan Girl didn’t know either, and she lives there, so I don’t think the baby could have been there long.”

 

“Oh,” Gansey says, “Orphan Girl was there?” 

 

“You need to give Orphan Girl a name too,” Noah chimes in, “how about Daisy?” 

 

“How about you stop trying to label people?” 

 

“How about you-” 

 

“Ok guys,” Adam says, “we could probably leave the bathroom now. Probably best for Andy if she doesn’t go to sleep in the bath.” 

 

“How come you let Adam call her dumb names but not me?” Noah asks, and Ronan pokes his tongue out at him, and then stands up slowly, Adam helping him keep balance with one hand. 

 

“I’m just going to put the kettle on,” Gansey says, “and make some coffee. I think we have some sachets around here somewhere. Who wants some?” 

 

The general groaning chorus comes out as an everyone wants/needs coffee (Including Noah, but he gets denied).

  
  


-

  
  


By the time Calla and Blue arrive, the baby (Gansey is currently calling her Aphrodite (“Because she came from the water, Ronan! Like Aphrodite in seafoam. We could call her Venus if you really don’t like-”)) is conked out in Ronan’s lap. Ronan is on the sofa, almost scared to move for fear of waking her, Adam on one side of him, Gansey on the other. The both of them seem more willing to be excited about the fact of a baby in the flat while she’s asleep and not crying. Noah is hovering around the back of the couch in the middle of a long argument with Gansey about why Aphrodite is a terrible name for a baby (“Because,  _ Richard _ , Aphrodite came out as a full grown adult, and was immediately sexualised, calling a baby Venus would be like calling a baby  _ Dick _ -” “Noah I resent your implications immensely.”).

 

Blue’s first reaction to this sight is to snort a little and to ask; “So is Gansey or Adam the father, then?” 

 

Calla’s first reaction is to groan dramatically. “I resent all of you,” she says flatly, “do you know what most boys your age would be doing? Not fucking around with magic and having babies, you shit heads.” 

 

“Well I’m dead,” Noah says, “so I’m not really a boy our age, am I?” 

 

“According to Adam I’m post-dead,” Gansey chips in, “so I’m not sure if I get to fit in that category either.” 

 

“You’re actually 80,” Ronan tells him, voice low, “and Adam’s like, a fucking founding father or some shit, so really I’m the only one who’s a boy our age, and I just happen to have fucking genetic dream shit going on, so I think I’m exempt.” 

 

“Like I said,” Calla says, “I resent all of you. Alright, lemme see this kid.” She holds her arms out to Ronan, and he balks. 

 

“You can see perfectly well with your eyes, not your hands,” he snaps, “I’m not letting you just take off with her.” 

 

“From what I heard on the phone,” Calla snaps back, “you have no fucking clue what you’re doing, so it would make more sense for you to hand her over, however, I don’t want that. I just want to get a reading on her.” 

 

Ronan balks further. “Uh-uh,” he says, “no way I’m letting you do your weird magic shit on her.” 

 

“She is weird magic shit,” Adam points out blandly, “and anyway, Calla might be able to tell you why you have her.” 

 

“I’m not going to hurt her,” Calla says, rolls her eyes, “I helped raise Blue here, and she turned out fine.” 

 

“Debatable,” Ronan grumbles, and Blue glares at him. 

 

“Don’t be such a stick in the mud, Ronan,” she tells him firmly, “if nothing else, Calla can probably tell you how old she is, which would likely be useful.” 

 

“Very useful,” Gansey says, “how else are we supposed to know if she’s properly developed if we don’t know how old she is?” 

 

“God,” Ronan snaps, “fine. Don’t wake her up.” 

 

Calla tsks at him, stoops down, and takes the baby. Everyone is silent then, watching Calla rock the baby to soothe it into staying asleep. Then Calla makes a surprised sort of noise, and Ronan twitches. Gansey pats his leg, Adam pats his shoulder. Calla strokes the baby’s head. 

 

“What?” Ronan asks eventually, the silence grinding on him, “Obviously you found something out, stop playing all mysterious on us.” 

 

“I don’t need to play,” Calla says, “I am mysterious.” 

 

Ronan groans. Calla sighs. 

 

“I expected to not be able to read much from her at all,” she starts to explain, “seeing as she is a dream, a new dream, therefore really more of a blank slate, but-” she pauses here, turns her attention back to the sleeping baby. 

 

“What?” Ronan grits out. 

 

“Well,” Calla says slowly, “she’s not.” 

 

“Not what?” Blue prods from beside her. She’s standing almost on her tiptoes to see into Calla’s arms. 

 

“She’s older than Ronan’s dream,” Calla says, “she doesn’t come from his dream.” 

 

“What?” Gansey asks, “How did she get in there, then?” 

 

“Oh I don’t know,” Calla says flippantly, “I’m a psychic not a dreamer. She’s two months, by the way, Richard, and perfectly healthy as far as I can tell. Long may that last here.” 

 

“Well I definitely took her from my dream,” Ronan objects, “it was in my dream scape.” 

 

Calla stares at him as if he’s just spouting nonsense. “Your ‘dream scape’ is in what you call Cabeswater, yes?” 

 

“Yes.”  

 

“You’re not the only idiots who’ve found their way inside there,” she says, “just because you took her out doesn’t mean that someone else didn’t put her in.” 

 

“So you mean to say,” Adam says, “that Ronan’s stolen someone’s baby?” 

 

Calla cackles, but then shakes her head, “No,” she says, “this baby belongs to him apparently.” 

 

“I knew it,” Noah grins, “Ronan’s the mum.” 

 

“Still don’t know who the dad is though,” Blue adds, grins shark like at Adam. 

 

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Ronan objects sharply, and Calla shrugs, hands the baby back, “nothing about any of you make any sense,” she says, “there’s baby clothes in the bags, I’m off to work now. I suppose none of you delinquents are coming to school?” 

 

“No,” Ronan says, awkwardly readjusting the baby in his arms. Gansey shakes his head. Adam hesitates a moment, and then shrugs. 

 

“I’m staying here too,” he says. Calla looks to Blue. 

 

“I’m definitely skipping,” Blue says, “like I’d miss an episode of Ronan not acting like a complete ass.” 

 

“They took me off the roll,” Noah says, “couldn’t go if I wanted to.” 

  
  


-

  
  


The day passes in uncomfortable bouts of sluggishness paired with ridiculously fast disappearing time. It’s all putting the baby down on his bed so he can have his hands back, immediately picking her back up again because she wakes up the minute he releases her. It’s all Gansey pulling out various heavy and overly dusty tomes from his book stacks exclaiming he thinks there’s something relevant somewhere in it. It’s Blue and Noah together suggesting progressively more and more ridiculous names. It’s Adam silently making up the milk for Ronan, grabbing the nappies, shooting down Gansey’s more outrageous creation stories. He has to leave at 3:30 though, can’t afford to miss school and work. Blue leaves with him so she can catch a ride closer to home, leaving just the three of them at home with the baby who is currently very awake and no closer to making any sense. 

 

“I don’t know,” Gansey moans, dropping another book down into his ‘useless and irritating’ pile of books, “is it too much to ask for something vaguely explainable to happen here?” 

 

“Probably,” Noah says. He’s lying on his stomach head to head with the baby who Ronan is attempting to give ‘tummy time’ after reading about 37 various articles on baby care. Chainsaw is hopping around the three of them on the floor, squawking intermittently as if she’s performing some sort of archaic ritual. “Or at least,” he adds, “probably too much to ask of Ronan.” 

 

“Fuck you,” Ronan grumbles. He’s sitting cross legged beside the baby, hunched down and over like a melting wax figure so he can keep an eye on the baby’s face. He has no fucking clue what he's doing here, but he is pretty sure it’s probably nothing that would easily make sense. 

 

“Probably shouldn't,” Noah sighs, “we don’t wanna end up with another kid.” 

 

“What were you thinking-” Gansey begins, and Ronan huffs angrily, cuts him off. 

 

“I told you it was an accident! It’s not like I meant to bring a baby out,” he snaps, and Gansey holds his hand out for quiet, and starts again. 

 

“What were you thinking about before you fell asleep?” he asks, “Babies? Family? magic?”

 

“Sex?” Noah chimes in cheekily. Ronan reaches out to swat the top of his head. Since Blue had been over, Noah was more solid than usual, more alive and vibrant, more cheeky, and also, easier to hit. 

 

“I, uh,” he says, “I don’t know what I was thinking about before I went to sleep.” This was untrue. Noah snorts loudly. 

 

“Sex,” he confirms, “Lynch, this is why you need to go to school, what you were thinking about is not how babies get made-” 

 

Ronan swats him again.

 

Gansey makes a face, but he looks amused. “Anyway,” he says loudly over Noah’s giggling and Ronan’s growling, “that probably wasn’t the trigger than. I don’t suppose you’ve ever meet any fae folk and made bargains with them?” 

 

“What the fuck?” Ronan snaps, abandons hitting Noah to stare up at Gansey, “No. Look, this baby isn’t as much my fault as you seem to think it is.” 

 

“Calla said she was yours,” Gansey says seriously, “I’m just trying to figure out how that’s possible.”

 

Ronan groans, shuffles out so he can lie on his stomach next to the baby, “I don’t think you’re going to find your answer in a book, Gans.” 

 

“Why not?” Gansey asks, “I’ve found a lot of my answers in books before.” 

 

“Yeah well,” Ronan says, “this is a baby born just recently and all your books are as old as Glendower, so.” 

 

“They’re not as old as Glendower,” Gansey says, “most of them, anyway.” 

 

“Well I think we ought to focus on what we’re naming her,” Noah says. He’s pushed forwards on the floor so he’s nose to nose with the baby. 

 

“After all your suggestions with Maggot this afternoon,” Ronan says flatly, “you’re banned from the naming committee.” 

 

“What if she already has a name, though? Gansey objects, “her real name might be key in understanding her.” 

 

“Well she’s not going to care if we call her the wrong name until then,” Ronan grunts, “and Noah is right that it’s getting weird just calling her the baby. It’s like calling Chainsaw the bird.” 

 

“Well then,” Gansey says, “what’re you going to call her?” 

 

“Fuck knows,” Ronan snaps back, “don’t pressure me.” 

 

“What are we going to do about school tomorrow?” Gansey asks, changing tack, and Ronan groans loud enough that the baby startles. 

 

“I just said don’t pressure me,” he grumbles, “but, I think I’ll stay home again. You can go to school, Noah can help me.” 

 

“And leave you here with a two month old?” Gansey snorts, “I think not.” 

 

“Gansey,” Ronan says bluntly, “you have even less experience with children than me. Shut your mouth.” 

 

“I still don’t like the idea of you being alone here,” Gansey begins cautiously, and Noah snorts with offense. 

 

“I’ll be here,” he points out, “and I actually know what I’m doing. Kind of.”

 

“Anyway,” Ronan continues, “what else am I supposed to do? I can’t just hire some random babysitter, or take her to a kindy, or to school with me. So, I’m staying home. You can just tell the office I have some awful flu or something.” 

 

“We could call her Awful Flu,” Noah suggests. 

 

“You’re banned,” Ronan grunts. 

 

“Is Adam coming back here after work?” Gansey asks, standing up and making his way over to his desk to sort through another shorter stack of possibly helpful (not) books. 

 

“Why would he?” Ronan snorts, “He’ll go back to his attic to do his homework or some shit.” 

 

“I just thought he seemed curious is all,” Gansey shrugs, “and also that you might find it easier with him here to make the milk for you.” 

 

“I can make the milk just fine,” Ronan says, shifts up on his knees so he can pick the baby up, “if you want Adam to come over for your study group then you can invite him. I’m going to feed her.” 

 

“Need a hand?” 

 

“No...Yes.” 

  
  


-

  
  


Ronan and the baby both are down for a nap after dinner when Adam comes round. He’s not sure how long Adam’s been here, is only aware of it when Adam knocks on his door frame waking him up. 

 

“Ugh,” Ronan grumbles, squinting at Adam in the doorway, limned with the late evening late still in the living area, “what the fuck are you doing here?” 

 

“Checking you hadn’t died,” Adam says calmly, “Gansey says you’re grumpy.” 

 

“Of course I’m grumpy,” Ronan says, “I’m a seventeen year old with a baby.” 

 

“Yeah,” Adam snorts, “yeah. Gansey also says we’re no closer to figuring this shit out.” 

 

“Nope,” Ronan agrees, pokes the baby’s tummy gently, “Gansey’s going nuts.” 

 

“And you’re not?” Adam asks, coming into the room to lean against the end of the bed, to peer at the baby sleeping by Ronan’s side. They’d changed her into some of the clothes Calla had brought, so her tummy proudly proclaims that she’s a ‘Witch’s Familiar’. 

 

“Of course I am,” Ronan sighs, sitting up and bending over his knees, “I just don’t see any point in freaking out about it yet. For all we know, this is like Glendower’s ancient heir or something, and her being here will wake Glendower up and he’ll come get her, and we’ll all live happily ever after.” 

 

Adam snorts, “Sure,” he says, “happily ever after. You wouldn’t mind if someone took her away?” 

 

Ronan squints at him. “Why would I?” he asks, “So long as it was the right person, no.” 

 

“You just seem attached,” Adam shrugs. 

 

“Well she did literally come out of my head,” Ronan says, brightens up, “ - oh I should totally call her Athena - anyway. Sure, I’m attached, but it’s not like I’m her dad or whatever. I don’t want to have a kid, Parrish.” 

 

“I mean,” Adam says, “you could have fooled me. Didn’t you say, like, ages ago, that you have to want something to take it out of your dreams?” 

 

“Don’t be such a pedantic ass,” Ronan grumbles, “I didn’t want a baby, you fuck, I wanted to keep the baby safe. Different things. Just because I don’t want to be responsible for my dreams hurting a baby, even a dream baby, doesn’t mean I wanna be a fucking dad.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says, perches on the end of Ronan’s bed, “you don’t need to get all pissy about it.” 

 

“I’m not pissy,” Ronan says, pissily, “I just - oh come on, I’m allowed to be fucking pissy about this.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says again, rolls his eyes, “you really think this is related to Glendower?” 

 

“No,” Ronan admits, pokes at Adam’s legs with his foot, “I think this is just some other weird Ley line shit. Why are you here, Parrish?” 

 

“I told you,” Adam says calmly, nudges Ronan back with his knee. 

 

“Nah,” Ronan says, “why the fuck did you come back? Aren’t you always going on about how you have no fucking time?” 

 

“Kinda a change in priorities when your best friend suddenly pops out a baby,” Adam says wryly, “like I would just go home.” 

 

“You’re the one who labeled himself as a workaholic, not me,” Ronan snipes back, and Adam knees him again. 

 

“You call me a workaholic all the time,” he says, “anyway. Do you have any idea what we’re gonna do?” 

 

“Keep the baby alive until we figure out why she’s here?” Ronan says, “I dunno.” 

 

“So,” Adam says, leans back against the wall, “I guess that’s a good plan. A little lacking in details.” 

 

“We can’t all be geniuses,” Ronan grumbles, “what do you suggest then, o wise one?” 

 

“Don’t be an ass,” Adam says, “I don’t know either.” 

 

“You staying here tonight?” Ronan asks, “Or are you going home to do homework by candlelight?” 

 

“Ha,” Adam says humorlessly, “I’m going home in a minute, I just wanted to drop by to make sure you were all alright.”

 

“Little bit out of your way,” Ronan says. 

 

“Yeah so I was worried about y’all,” Adam shrugs, “obviously. But you’re fine, so I’m going home.” 

 

“You could just stay,” Ronan says, “in Noah’s room. Gansey’s terrible at making the formula up.”

 

“Huh,” Adam says, “Gansey was telling me it was you who was terrible at it.” 

 

“Well,” Ronan shrugs. 

 

“It’s not exactly difficult,” Adam sighs, “I don’t know how you can be getting it wrong.” 

 

“Not wrong,” Ronan says, he wouldn’t feed a baby something bad, “just messy.” 

 

“You guys are kinda slobs,” Adam says, “I mean, kitchen in bathroom…” 

 

“So?” Ronan says, “Will you stay?” 

 

“God, fine,” Adam says, “but I can’t miss school again tomorrow.” 

  
  


-

 

The baby isn’t good at sleeping through the night. Which, is not surprising, per se, but Ronan is still somewhat surprised, because, isn’t that a fucking phrase people use? Sleep like a baby? 

 

“She comes from your head,” Adam yawns as he measures formula out in the bathroom sometime around three in the morning, “of course she sucks at sleeping.” 

 

“She sucks even worse than me at sleeping,” Ronan complains, cupping said baby to his bare chest because Gansey had insisted around about midnight that ‘skin time’ was vital for a baby’s health and emotional development or something. 

 

“At least she’s not crying,” Adam points out, which is very true and something Ronan appreciates a lot. 

 

She’s just making little grumpy noises that sound like the edge of crying, and she’s not sleeping, so Ronan can’t sleep. 

 

“Maybe I’ll just take her to school with me today,” Ronan says, “freak out all my teachers. Tell them I have a girlfriend in Ireland or something and she dropped our baby off for the week.” 

 

“Sure,” Adam snorts, “like any of our teachers would believe  _ you _ have a girlfriend.” 

 

“Oi,” Ronan says, feigns offense, “I’m a real fucking catch, Parrish.”

 

“Oh I know,” Adam says, sounds far too serious, “the emphasis should have been on the  _ girl _ part.” 

 

“Huh,” Ronan says. The baby makes a gurgling sound, so he stares down at her to make sure she’s not choking. “It’s that obvious, huh?” 

 

Adam makes a noise that’s probably being accompanied by a shrug. He’s screwing the bottle lid on now. “It is to me,” he says, “maybe I’m giving the teachers too much credit.” 

 

“I think you are,” Ronan says, takes the bottle being handed to him, and ends that particular conversation by saying; “so I was thinking we should call her Aisling. It means dream in Irish. Kind of fitting, yeah?” 

 

“Yeah,” Adam says. He perches on the edge of the counter next to Ronan, wraps his hand gently around one of the baby’s feet. “Aisling? Am I saying it right?” 

 

“Yes,” Ronan snorts, “what do you think?”

 

“I like it,” Adam shrugs, “it’s up to you though.” 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says. 

 

“Aisling’s feet are cold,” Adam says, squeezes said foot a little. “If you feed her in bed, maybe she’ll go back to sleep?” 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says again, “she might not though.” 

 

“Ronan,” Adam says, yawns lengthily, releases Aisling’s foot. “Go back to bed, yeah? You need sleep at least.” 

 

-

 

Morning comes a lot sooner than wanted. Both Ronan and Aisling seem to think this. Ronan would cry as well if he didn’t think Gansey might just start crying as well if there was anymore ruckus in the house. 

 

“God,” Noah greets him as they cluster in the kitchen trying to get cereal. Adam is grabbing the bowls, the cereal, the milk. Gansey is making coffee. Ronan is trying to calm Aisling down. Noah is just making irritating comments. “You smell like sour milk, Ro,” he says loudly, “she been spitting up on you?” 

 

“Yes,” Ronan grits out, “Gansey didn’t tell me about the burping articles he read until this morning.” 

 

“Yummy,” Noah remarks, “you look like shit.” 

 

“Fuck you,” Ronan replies, “and by the way, her name is Aisling.” 

 

“Did you dream that?” Gansey asks,whipping his head around to look from the coffee to Ronan, “is this part of an answer?” 

 

“No,” Adam answers for him, “it was a three AM decision. It means dream in Irish.” 

 

“Oh,” Gansey says, “well. I like it.” 

 

“Super cute,” Noah agrees, “Ronan, get a shower.” 

 

“I’m not showering with her again,” Ronan protests, “she’s already fucking grumpy and fucking wriggly. I’d fucking drop her.” 

 

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Adam says. He’s poured out the cereal and milk now, put all the shit away, and has just grabbed a handful of spoons. “I’ll fucking hold her, ok? Lemme make her some milk while you eat your breakfast, and then I’ll hold her and you can wash all that sick off of you and get changed.” 

 

“Huh,” Ronan says, lifts his leg so he can kick the back of Gansey’s calf, “hey Gans, Adam’s braver than you. You’re still too scared to hold her.” 

 

“We already knew he was braver than me,” Gansey says calmly, starts pouring coffee, “I just know that if I hold her right now I will drop her.” 

 

-

 

There’s something both oddly satisfying and terrifying about handing Aisling over to Adam after he’s wolfed down his breakfast. Adam’s sat himself down on the couch in the main room, milk bottle in one hand, apprehensive expression plastered all over his face. Gansey is lingering behind the couch watching. Noah is perched on the arm of the couch. 

 

“This isn’t going to be as entertaining as you guys seems to think it will be,” Adam says a little stiffly as Ronan places Aisling into the crook of Adam’s arms. She’s still crying a little, but she’s not as wriggly as she had been. “I dunno why you’re watching so carefully.” 

 

“We’re just waiting to see if you’re the father,” Noah says, “cos if you are it’ll be a huge magic moment.” 

 

“None of what you just said made any sense, dumbass,” Ronan snaps, stretches his arms up in the air, feeling a million times lighter suddenly now the baby is out of them. 

 

“Nothing happened,” Adam says blandly, “so stop staring.” He’s shifting in increments under the weight of Aisling, pressing the teat of the bottle to the corner of her mouth in an effort to interest her in it. She is immediately interested. 

 

“Pity,” Noah says, “that would have been very exciting.” 

 

“I just wanted to see if Ronan would chicken out at the last minute and refuse to hand her over,” Gansey teases. Ronan gives him the finger. Goes to shower. 

 

-

 

When he gets back, Aisling isn’t crying anymore, Gansey and Noah are no longer hovering, and Adam is asleep, head lolled back on the back of the couch. Gansey is shuffling things over by his desk, Noah is nowhere to be seen. 

 

“They both fell asleep,” Gansey whispers. He’s sorting things out in his school bag. “I took the bottle away.” 

 

“He got up everytime she woke up last night,” Ronan says, tiptoeing around the front of the couch so he can look at the two asleep, “no wonder he’s fucking shattered. Where’s Noah?” 

 

“Why did he do that?” Gansey asks, “why would you wake him up? I’m right here.” 

 

“He heard her the first time,” Ronan mumbles, “and then he just slept in my room. So, he was there. I would have gotten you, otherwise. Not that you’d have been much help,” he jabbed cheerfully, “you won’t even hold her.” 

 

“I will,” Gansey protests, “I’m just - we’ve just been over this, Lynch, I’m worried I’d drop her.” 

 

“You’re not clumsy,” Ronan points out, “that doesn’t seem like a very valid excuse.” 

 

Gansey shrugs. “What’s the plan, today?” he asks, “Are you staying home? You can’t take her to school.” 

 

“I could,” Ronan says, “I was thinking about it.” 

 

“You shouldn’t,” Gansey amends, “I don’t think it’d be good for anyone involved. You should take her to Fox Way and see if you can get some more answers.” 

 

“Nah,” Ronan says, “I should take her to Cabeswater and see if I can get some more answers.” 

 

“That doesn’t sound very safe,” Gansey says, “especially not alone.” 

 

“It’s safe as life,” Ronan says, “and that’s where I found her.” 

 

Gansey sighs heavily. “Ok,” he says, “this is your dream. You decide what’s best. I would prefer if you would wait for me, or at least someone else, to come with you, though.” 

 

Ronan groans. Sits himself down carefully on the couch next to Adam and Aisling, leans in a little against Adam’s side. 

 

“Ok,” he says, “I’ll wait for you. I’m gonna bring her to school though. I wanna talk to Declan about her.” 

 

“What?” Adam asks blearily from beside him. He looks like he’s woken up in just the very last millisecond. “You what?” 

 

“God,” Ronan snorts, “you look like a swamp monster. I’m gonna show her to Declan. Maybe she’s his or some shit.” 

 

“You don’t actually think so, do you?” Gansey asks, coming over to lean in over the back of the couch again. 

 

“No,” Ronan says, “I just wanna see if he knows of anything like this. He knew more about dad’s dreaming shit than anyone I knew, so, maybe he’s heard of something like this.” 

 

“Worth a shot,” Adam mumbles. He tips his head to one side until his neck clicks, and then repeats on the other side. “You’re gonna freak out all of Aglionby walking in with a baby, y’know.” 

 

“Good,” Ronan grins, “want me to take her?” 

 

“Yeah,” Adam says, yawns, and then grins widely back at him, “she needs a nappy change.” 

 

“Oh fuck.” 

  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so who's surprised that I've decided there will be 3 chapters of this instead of 2? Because I'm not.

It is not hard to find Declan once at Aglionby. Not that it usually is, but, whenever Ronan turns up slightly weirder than usual (read; bloody, drunk, half asleep, too happy, carrying a baby), Declan appears in front of him faster than Ronan can say, “Where the fuck is that dumbass brother of mine? Not you, Matthew, you’re perfect.” 

 

“What the hell,” Declan says, announcing his presence. “I heard someone say you had a baby, and I was fucking hoping it was my hearing going. Whose baby did you steal?” 

 

“Why does everyone keep assuming I  _ stole _ her?” Ronan asks, aggrieved, “I didn’t steal her. I found her.” 

 

“Oh my God,” Adam mumbles from by his side, “God, Ronan. I’m going to class. Have fun explaining this to your brother.” 

 

“Coward,” Ronan tells him cheerfully, “tell the teacher he’s an idiot and I’m not sorry I’m missing his class.”

 

“I will not,” Adam says. He leans over Ronan, which is surprising, and kisses Aisling on the forehead. “Catch you later, Lynch, Gans, little dream.” 

 

Declan has been standing mutinously quiet in front of Ronan during this exchange, and only after Adam slips past him does he speak again. This time to Gansey, standing behind Ronan’s shoulder. 

 

“What the hell is going on, Richard?” Declan demands, “I trust you at least have something sensible to say, here.” 

 

“Well,” Gansey says, “I would honestly very much like to say something very sensible here, Declan, however, I am also due in class, and Ronan has asked me not to say anything, so. Goodbye.” 

 

Declan stares after him, expression as if he’s been betrayed by his last ally. Then he turns back to Ronan (and to Aisling who has just started to make very grumpy noises). 

  
  


“Alright,” he says, with almost impressive calm, “what is this, Ronan?” 

 

“Is this yours?” Ronan asks, hoists Aisling up from the crook of his arm onto his shoulder, because that has worked to calm her down before, “I found her in a puddle in one of my dreams.” 

 

“The fuck,” Declan says. 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, frowns, “do you know anything about it?” 

 

“What, the fuck,” Declan repeats, “of course I don’t - what the hell are you even talking about, Ronan?” 

 

“Ok,” Ronan concedes, shifts Aisling onto his other shoulder and tries rocking, “I know she’s not yours. I just - you know more about this kind of thing than me. The dreaming. I mean, not the physical side of it obviously, but dad told you more about it than he told me. Did he ever mention like - finding real people in dreams?” 

 

“Real people?” Declan asks, “What do you mean by real people?” 

 

“I mean,” Ronan says, sighs heavily as Aisling’s grumbling becomes half hearted crying, “people in dreams that aren’t dreams. I had the psychics look at her. She’s not from my dream. I just  _ found _ her there. So like -” 

 

“Someone put her there?” Declan asks, frowning heavily, “Or? What? God, give her here, will you?” he adds on, holding his arms out for the squalling baby. 

 

Ronan sighs again, peels Aisling off of his shoulder, and hands her carefully over to Declan, who immediately lies her on her tummy along his forearm, and starts rocking her while patting her back. She doesn’t stop crying, but the cries do lessen almost instantly. 

 

“How do you do that?” Ronan demands, shoves his hands in his jean pockets, “it’s not like you spend lots of time around babies.” 

 

“I’m the eldest,” Declan points out. 

 

“By a year,” Ronan retorts, “you don’t have that much more practice than me.” 

 

“What can I say,” Declan sneers, “I’m a natural. Now, fill me in more. God, Ronan. Only you would accidentally steal a baby from a dream.” 

 

“I didn’t,” Ronan insists, “Jesus Mary. She was - she was just lying there in a fucking puddle, fuck ass, and there were - y’know - my fucking monsters. If I didn’t take her, I dunno if she would have been safe.” 

 

Declan scrutinises him, then drops his gaze to Aisling who is only making small hiccuping noises now. 

 

“You still have those dreams?” he asks, which is off topic, and irritating. 

 

Ronan shrugs, shoves his hands further down in his jeans. 

 

“Are you still getting hurt in them?” Declan presses. 

 

“Not if I get out quick enough,” Ronan snaps. If Declan wasn’t holding Aisling hostage, Ronan would be attempting to get out of this as well. “Anyway. I didn’t steal her. And I want to know why she was there.” 

 

“What do you expect me to do about that, then?” Declan snaps back, “I don’t deal with the human side of dreaming, Ronan, I deal with the business end. I can’t do shit for you.” 

 

This, quite unexpectedly, is not only irritating to hear, but also slightly painful. It stabs Ronan in the gut. He pretends it doesn’t. 

 

“You seem to be dealing with the human side well enough,” Ronan says, nods jerkily down at Aisling, “she’s fucking happy with you. You should keep her.” 

 

“Ronan,” Declan sighs. 

 

Ronan clears his throat. “Will you keep an ear out for anything… weird?” he asks, “Like - I don’t know. I don’t  _ know _ , Dec. Just. Please.” 

 

“Yes,” Declan says, “I will. What are you going to do with her, now? Are you going to take her to mum in Cabeswater?” 

 

“What?” Ronan says, then feels like the biggest fucking idiot, “God, yes. Good idea. Yes. Come with me?” 

 

“What?” Declan says, louder than Ronan had, “You want me to… what?” 

 

There’s no point in taking it back now. 

 

“Come with me to take her to mum,” Ronan says, “you haven’t been to see her yet.” 

 

Declan doesn’t say anything. 

 

“She asks about you,” Ronan says, “she wants to see you.” 

 

“She thinks she does,” Declan says roughly, “she thinks she’s supposed to want to. She doesn’t actually, Ronan.” 

 

“Don’t be an idiot,” Ronan says, unthinking. 

 

“I’ll come with you,” Declan says, “but only because if you took her out of a dangerous dream I’m worried going back in will also be dangerous.” 

 

Ronan doesn’t know how he’s supposed to address any of this shit. 

 

“Fine,” he says, “do I have to wait for you to finish classes or some shit?” 

 

“No,” Declan says, “I’m already late for class. Let’s just go now before I change my mind.” 

 

-

  
  


They take Declan’s car. Declan insists. Mumbles something about it being a safer car for a baby. Ronan retorts that they don’t have a car seat so neither car is actually safe for the baby. Declan insists. They take Declan’s car. 

 

Ronan sits in the back with Aisling in his lap, arms tight around her. Declan drives a lot smoother than Ronan remembers him driving. Either because he’s older and less prone to thrills than he had been the last time Ronan had willingly driven with him, or because there is a carseatless baby in the back. 

 

They still get to Cabeswater sooner than Declan looks like he would like them to have.  He looks exceedingly uncomfortable to be here, so Ronan tries to balance this out a bit by handing Aisling back over to him once out of the car because Declan had looked like he had actually enjoyed holding her. Aisling, unusefully, balks at being handed over this time. Until now she had appeared fine with being handed over - to Calla, to Blue, to Adam, to Declan - but now when Ronan started to lift her off of his shoulder, her tiny fists grasped tightly at his shirt, and her probably larger than normal lungs expanded ridiculously so as she screamed her displeasure. 

 

“Fuck,” Ronan hisses, “baby nails are sharp.” 

 

“The hell did you do?” Declan hisses back, hands up as if he thinks surrendering will make her shut up. 

 

“Tried to give her to you,” Ronan snaps, “take her and calm her down, will you?” 

 

Declan attempts to take her. He gets his arms around her, gets her against his chest, but she cries louder and writhes harder, and neither Declan or Ronan want the police called on them especially when the baby isn’t theirs, so Declan drops his arms and Ronan gathers her back up against his chest. He rocks her carefully, cups her head to his neck, kisses the top of her forehead. She shuts up. The air around them rings with the silence of it. 

 

“Sorry,” Ronan says. Isn’t sure if he’s apologising to Aisling or Declan. 

 

“She’s obviously not happy here,” Declan says stiffly, “I can understand that. Best you keep holding her. She’s most comfortable with you.” 

 

Ronan nods. 

 

“Maybe mum will be able to calm her down,” he says, “let’s go.” 

 

-

 

Ronan had not been lying at all when he had told Declan that Aurora asked about him, but he’s still relieved when they step into the clearing and Aurora leaps to her feet and says; 

 

“Declan! My baby!” 

 

For a moment, Declan looks to Aisling, as if he thinks those words aren’t connected to him, and then he is taking a heavy step backwards as Aurora wraps her arms around his shoulders. 

 

“I didn’t think you’d ever come,” Aurora tells him, “I didn’t know if you would ever feel like you had enough space from it to come.” 

 

Declan replies, but it’s low and hushed enough under the sound of forest that Ronan can’t hear it without straining, and he doesn’t want to listen in if Declan is trying so hard to be unheard. Instead, he turns around and away. Hears Aurora murmur something back. Hears a soft noise like an exhale, or a sob, or the beginning of a rainfall. He goes to sit down by one of the smaller streams just over a mossy knoll. Bends at the knees to sit down as carefully as possible so as not to scare Aisling. 

 

She’s not crying anymore, but she feels a little stiff and taut in his arms, like she doesn’t like the feeling of the wind on her skin, or the sound of the trees, or… something. Once sitting, he shuffles her around a little so she’s not pressed into his skin, so she can see his face if she wants. 

 

“Was it somewhere near here?” he asks her in a low voice, “I didn’t recognise it while I was asleep, I don’t think I’d been there before. Maybe it was new. A puddle made just for you. You didn’t like it, did you?” 

 

Aisling doesn’t reply. Unsurprising. So Ronan continues. 

 

“Y’know,” he says, “I know I was a bit fucking miffed or whatever when you liked Declan holding you so much last time, but you didn’t need to go all horror movie on him this time. Unless that wasn’t about him at all, was it? You were just scared. About something. Yeah? You don’t need to be scared,” he says, “Dec’s the scariest thing in this forest.” 

 

“Don’t be mean about your brother,” Aurora says behind him, and Ronan turns to see her standing barely a metre away, smiling down at him. He can see Declan further back, shoulders hunched, looking away from the three of them. “He’s only scary because he thinks he has to be. Come here, darling,” she adds, holding her arms out to him, and Ronan pushes himself quickly up on the soft bank.

 

He has to adjust Aisling carefully before he can collapse into his mother’s arms, doesn’t want to smother her with maternal comfort. Or, he does, but in the more metaphorical version of it, not the physical. 

 

“So,” Aurora says against Ronan’s scalp, breath tickly and cool, “does this mean I’m a grandmother?” 

 

Ronan snorts. 

 

“No,” he says. He doesn’t pull away from her embrace yet, even as Aisling squirms against the sudden enclosure, “she’s not mine. I don’t know where she’s from.” 

 

“From a dream,” Aurora says, “like me?” 

 

This.... also hurts.

 

“No,” Ronan mumbles, presses his face in hard against the locks of Aurora’s hair, “no. She comes from outside of a dream. I don’t know how she got into the dream.” 

 

If this hurts Aurora, she doesn’t show it, just nods, and steps a little away from Ronan to hold him at arm’s length, to look him and Aisling over. 

 

“So,” she says, “you need to find out where she came from?” 

 

“Yes,” Ronan says, “I suppose. And why.” 

 

“Come back over to Declan,” Aurora says, dropping one arm and taking Ronan by the wrist, “it’s sunnier over there.” 

 

-

 

They end up sitting in the soft grass in a misshapen circle. Declan sitting so close to their mother Ronan is surprised he’s not simply leaning on her shoulder. 

 

“So,” Declan says, as if he is in charge here, “we were thinking we could leave her with you. You know what to do with babies, and she’s from a dream, so it makes sense to leave her here with - with - in a dream.” 

 

Ronan opens his mouth to agree with Declan, which probably would have been a surprise to their mother, but she gets in first.

 

“She doesn’t like it here,” she points out, nodding down at Aisling who looks like she wants to be sleeping but is too grumpy for sleeping, “and she’s not a dream. I don’t think she would do well here. She needed to be saved from a dream, not to be put straight back in one.” 

 

“But,” Declan says. 

 

“You do well here though,” Ronan says, “and you’re as real as she is even if she’s not a dream dream, and - “

 

“I did better out of here,” Aurora says sternly, not a common tone on her, “I am only in here because I am broken out of here. She is not. She deserves to be out there with you. She won’t find any answers if she’s stuck in here. She does not belong here at all.” 

 

Ronan swallows down his disagreements. 

 

“You don’t like it here?” Declan asks Aurora. 

 

“Oh,” she says, smiles, takes Declan’s hand in her own. “I don’t dislike it here,” she tells him, “and I can’t leave. Don’t worry, darling.” 

 

Declan looks like he will continue worrying. Ronan does not blame him.

 

“So what do we do now?” Ronan asks, because, even if their mother isn’t in the loop at all, even if she hasn’t even been awake in the outside world for years; she’s still their mother. She still knows best. Ronan still wants her to know best.  To tell him what to do. To be. 

 

“Keep her warm, dry, and well fed,” Aurora says with a smile, squeezes Declan’s hand. 

 

“I mean,” Ronan begins, “about finding her -” 

 

Aurora shrugs, “I’m a dream,” she says, “and a mother. She is from a dream but not a dream, so any motherly advice I could give you won’t be useful for finding where she is from, and I don’t think my dream advice would either.” 

 

“We could take her to the police,” Declan suggests. He doesn’t sound like he thinks it’s a good idea. 

 

“You could,” Aurora agrees, “but I don’t think that would be a good idea for any one of you.” 

 

“There,” Ronan says staunchly, “see? Good motherly advice.” 

 

Aurora turns to smile at him again. 

 

“Take her out of here,” she says, “to cheer her up again. Ask for the rest of the help you need from people outside.” 

 

-

 

They stay a while longer. Long enough for Declan to lean in against Aurora’s shoulder, for Aurora to comb her fingers through his hair and kiss his forehead. Long enough that Aisling needs a nappy change. Then Declan drives them to Monmouth. He comes inside, which is unusual, but it’s an unusual situation, so.

 

“You wanna change her nappy?” Ronan asks over his shoulder as they climb the stairs, “that’s what you’re coming up for, yeah?” 

 

“I’m coming up to make sure you know how to change her nappy,” Declan replies, “and that you’re keeping the bottles sanitary.” 

 

“Please,” Ronan says, “I’ve had her for longer than a full day. Obviously I can change her nappy.” 

 

“Please,” Declan shoots back, “you’ve had your band of merry men with you, that’s not proof that you’ve been doing the dirty work.” 

 

“Gansey’s too scared to even hold her,” Ronan snorts, “and Adam prefers to make the milk, not change the nappies.” 

 

Gansey snorts, “that’s right,” he says, “neither of them have younger siblings, do they?” 

 

Ronan shakes his head, lets them into the flat. 

 

“Will you hold her?” he asks, “While I grab the nappy shit?” 

 

Declan looks a little wary, but holds his arms out agreeably enough. Aisling doesn’t cry or flail about it this time. 

 

-

 

Gansey and Noah turn up back at Monmouth after school finishes, Adam in tow. All three of them look shocked to see Declan there, Aisling in his arms while Ronan sits on the floor nearby laptop open on his knees. Not fighting. That, Ronan thinks, is the most shocking part for them. 

 

“We’re looking through police reports and missing children bulletins,” Declan says over the top of Aisling’s head. “Because Ronan informs me that none of you have even considered doing that yet.” 

 

“Surely we would have seen if there was a missing baby around here,” Gansey protests, unwilling to let his academic and sensible head be challenged so directly. “It would be all over town.” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan agrees, doesn’t look up from the laptop screen, “but there’s no proof she’s from around here. Or that she’s even from America. She could be from somewhere crazy. New Zealand. Iceland. Mongolia.” 

 

“She doesn’t look Mongolian,” Noah says. 

 

“People move places, Noah,” Adam says, sounds almost cheerful, “these Lynches are proof of that.” 

 

“Well,” Gansey says, “have you found anything?” 

 

“Nah,” Ronan says, “well yeah. Yeah. There’s a fuckload of missing babies and kids around the world, Gans, fucking terrifying. None of them fit Aisling though.”

 

“We’re not just looking at recent disappearances either,” Declan says from the couch, “who knows how long this kid has been stuck in some dream kind of limbo.” 

 

“No longer than two months,” Adam says, he’s crouching down and then sitting with legs spread out in front of him next to Ronan. “She probably wasn't dream hopping while in the womb.” 

 

“Maybe she was,” Ronan bites back jokingly, “fuck, that would have been shitting scarier than a baby in a puddle. A vaguely humanoid thing in an amniotic sac in a puddle. The fucking monsters and me would probably have legged it.” 

 

“Is she sleeping?” Gansey asks. He’s made his way over to stand behind the couch to peer down over Declan’s shoulder at her, dumps his bag on the floor there. “She’s very quiet.” 

 

“No,” Declan says, “she’s just thinking.” 

 

“Thinking about what?” Noah asks, has somehow disappeared into the bathroom/kitchen, “Milk? Grabbing noses? World domination?” 

 

“She weirdly really likes Declan,” Ronan says to the computer screen. Adam has taken the mouse from his hand and is scrolling through reports, so he just has to watch right now. “She likes just staring at his face. I think it’s probably ‘cos he has a giant fucking booger in his nostril or something.” 

 

“I do not,” Declan says stiffly, “I’m just good with babies. And dream people.” 

 

“She’s not a dream person,” Adam says, clicks into a new tab, “she was just in a dream. Different.” 

 

“Still,” Declan insists. 

 

Adam’s warm, a little sweaty, smells like grease, which reminds Ronan; “Don’t you have work?” he asks, leans in against his side under the pretense of bumping shoulders. 

 

“Yeah,” Adam says vaguely, “I do. In like thirteen minutes. I wanted to come round here first.” 

 

“We’re more exciting than dirty car undersides,” Noah says, coming back into the room with a bottle of coke in one hand and a crumpled biscuit packet in the other. 

 

“Noah,” Gansey snorts as Noah uncaps the coke, “you can’t even drink that. Are you planning on just inhaling the bubbles to get the caffeine high or something?” 

 

“I can’t inhale either,” Noah says, inhales, “well,” he amends, “I can, but it’s not like it does shit. It’s for Adam.” 

 

“Oh,” Gansey says, “cool.” 

 

“I’m good,” Adam says. 

 

“It’s gonna go fucking flat if you don’t drink it,” Ronan snaps from beside him, bumps him again with his shoulder, “fucking take it.” 

 

Adam takes the coke from Noah. Accepts the packet of biscuits dropped into his lap as well. 

 

He shoves three in his mouth and speaks through the crumbs. 

 

“There’s a report here from last week in South Argentina,” he says, “month old baby girl? There’s a photo - oh yeah. No, Aisling doesn’t have pierced ears, does she?” 

 

“No,” Ronan says.

 

Declan looks down, shifts Aisling’s head to the side a little bit, rubs one tiny earlobe between his fingers. 

 

“I can’t see or feel any scar tissue or piercing,” he says, “so no, I don’t think so.” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, squinting at the screen, “she doesn’t look like that, either, Parrish.” 

 

“It’s a small baby,” Adam protests, “she’s a small baby. They look very similar, Lynch.” 

 

“Babies all do look like naked potatoes,” Noah agrees, “and I’ve seen a lot of babies. And naked potatoes.” 

 

“The fuck is a naked potato?” Declan asks.

 

“Aisling does not look like a naked potato,” Ronan snaps, “God.” 

 

Adam goes to work. Gansey gets his laptop out as well, joins the search. Declan deposits a sleepy Aisling into Ronan’s lap, heads out to some dumbass young democrats meeting or whatever. Noah sits in mini Henrietta with scraps of cardboard and constructs what he says is a baby mobile but looks a little bit more like a monster from craft hell. They find no matches. 

 

-

 

“You’ve only been looking for one afternoon,” Adam tells him later that night after he’d (inexplicably) turned up back at Monmouth with a backpack over his shoulder after work, “you could easily have missed the report. It’s not exactly as if any of us have any practice in this kind of searching. Maybe her parents haven’t been able to report it yet?” 

 

“Maybe they’re dead,” Noah chips in unhelpfully. 

 

They’re sitting on Ronan’s bed. Ronan propped up against the headboard, Aisling in his lap as he feeds her. Adam is squished in beside him, between Ronan’s shoulders and the wall. Noah is perched on the windowsill with Chainsaw while Gansey is sprawled disconsolately on the end of the bed. 

 

“Don’t say that shit in front of Aisling,” Ronan snaps. Noah snorts, chucks a random pebble out the window for Chainsaw to dive after. 

 

“I agree with Adam,” Gansey sighs. 

 

“Big surprise there,” Ronan mumbles to Aisling. 

 

Gansey ignores him and continues; “we don’t have great resources and she could be from anywhere. It’s not a surprise we didn’t immediately find her. We probably will. She didn’t just appear out of the ether if you didn’t dream her up. She’s a baby, there will be a paper trail, and we will find it.” 

 

“Your stirring speech is a little less effective when your face is smushed in against my knees,” Adam tells him. 

 

Gansey is obviously tired, because he lifts his hand to pull the finger at Adam. Adam grins at it. He’s taking this whole fucking thing with a much better humour than Ronan had expected. Not that he had any expectations, really. In fact, actually, everyone is, so far. Not one tantrum had been thrown by anyone but Aisling. 

 

“So tomorrow’s plan?” Ronan says, “All day reading police reports and driving ourselves into depression?” 

 

“Sounds good,” Noah says. 

 

“Uh,” Gansey says, “it’s still school tomorrow, Ronan. You can’t afford to miss anymore classes.” 

 

“Fuck that,” Ronan says, has to take a pause from this particular topic for a moment when he realises the bottle is empty and Aisling is making the noises that Ronan has begun to associate with pre throw up, therefore, burping time. He shuffles her up onto his shoulder while Adam plucks the bottle from his fingers, and pats her back carefully. “Fuck that,” he repeats, “I think school is a little less important than figuring out what to do with a baby.” 

 

“I’m not sure you’ll think that when you’ve been expelled for unexplained absences,” Gansey says. 

 

“Pretty sure I will always fucking think that.” Ronan says. 

 

“We can explain the absences,” Adam says, “Declan seems to be very much on our side right now. We could get him to tell the school that Ronan is ill. Or something.”

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, “exactly.” 

 

Aisling spits up down his back. 

 

-

 

It ends up being a bit of a sleepover. Adam doesn’t go to Noah’s room to sleep, and so, neither does Gansey. Ronan isn’t sure if this is because Gansey doesn’t want to pass up an opportunity to have a slumber party, or if Gansey feels excluded, or if Gansey actually wants to be woken up everytime Aisling wakes up with various disagreements to how life is. 

 

Either way. 

 

It means that Gansey drags the mattress off of his bed and into Ronan’s room while Adam kicks a space in the clutter that Ronan calls his floor, and then Gansey and Adam both flop down onto the mattress and Ronan has to deal with the fact that his two very fucking attractive best friends are in bed together in a small amount of clothing in his fucking bedroom. It also means that he has to deal with Noah, hovering by the end of his bed, smirking knowingly at him while Ronan blushes and looks away at the wall. 

 

“I need a shower before we fucking sleep,” Ronan announces to the room at large, “and we need to invest is some fucking spit rags for Aisling or something. She’s like a dragon. A milk vomit dragon.” 

 

“We should wash her too,” Adam says, “she’s not had a clean since she came out of the dream, has she?” 

 

“Oh!” Gansey says brightly, “We should wash her in the sink!” 

 

-

 

Every-fucking-one pours out of Ronan’s room and into the bathroom, because apparently no one cares the fuck about privacy or space limits. Ronan hands Aisling over to Adam, ditches his clothes, and hides behind the shower curtain as quickly as possible. There’s no need to be hiding, no one is watching him, they’re all focused on Aisling and the logistics of washing her in the sink. 

 

“Don’t fucking bang her on the taps,” Ronan calls around the shower curtain, “and check the fucking temperature of the water before you put her in, and-” 

 

“Chill out, shit, man,” Adam snorts at him, “we’ve got this. You, however, have milk in your scalp stubble.” 

 

“Fuck you,” Ronan snaps. Disappears back behind the curtains and listens to the general clamour of his three fucking best mates washing a strange baby in their fucking kitchen/bathroom sink as if this isn’t a fucking crazy thing to be happening. 

 

Also. 

 

He had kind of fucking been hoping he could shower by himself because it’s probably rude and also not a great idea to wank with only a shower curtain between them. 

 

-

 

Aisling is very grumpy after her bath. Ronan sympathises. Back in bed, he attempts to soothe her by letting her suck on his knuckles, which, for some crazy shitting reason, is a thing she does every single time his hands come close to her face. Well. She tries to suck everything that comes close enough to suck, but knuckles are better than ears or birds to suck on. 

 

“You’re not worried you’ll roll over and crush her in your sleep?” Gansey asks from down on his mattress. He and Adam are lying side by side, Adam almost stiff, Gansey sprawled out like he hasn’t even realised he’s not the only one on the bed. 

 

“What the fuck,” Ronan says, “I fucking wasn’t but I am now, you shit head.”

 

“It’ll be fine,” Adam says, “I slept in my parents bed until I was like… one, and even my alcoholic father didn’t crush me, so I think Ronan’ll be fine.” 

 

They’re silent for a moment, digesting, then Gansey says; “Ok, but you remember the articles I read you? Baby on her back? Blankets away from her face?” 

 

“Yes,” Ronan snaps, “can you please stop terrifying me? I want to actually sleep tonight.” 

 

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Gansey says in what he obviously thinks is a reassuring voice, “I’m just worried because I’ve read a lot of articles about SIDS in the last couple of days, and my own parents were very adamant about never bed sharing with children, and -” 

 

“Gansey shut the fuck up,” Ronan says, “or else there’ll be a case of sudden Gansey death.” 

 

Gansey huffs. 

 

“Noah,” Adam says, “will you turn the light out?” 

 

-

  
  


Aisling wakes up at two twenty eight according to Adam’s wrist watch. Gansey does not wake up. Noah is nowhere. 

 

“W’ss wrong?” Adam mumbles from somewhere underneath a pillow that’s half under Ronan’s bed. 

 

“Think she’s hungry,” Ronan mumbles back. She’s not crying yet, just making miserable grumbly noises and sucking the blanket into her mouth. 

“‘Kay,” Adam says. His head appears, very tousled by the side of Ronan’s bed, “I’ll go make up some milk.” 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says, “I’ll try and keep her from waking Gans up.” 

 

“Mhm,” Adam mumbles, shifting up onto his knees, tangling in the blanket, half falling off of the mattress, and disappearing out the door. 

 

He comes back a short while later, shaking the bottle in his hand, and drops himself down heavily on the bed next to Ronan. 

 

“Shift over,” he grunts, “I’m freezing.” 

 

“Hi freezing,” Ronan replies, “I’m Ro-” 

 

“No, no, no,” Adam says, elbows Ronan gently in the face, “you’re not a father, you keep reminding us that, so you don’t get to make dad jokes. Asshole.” 

 

“Shithead,” Ronan retorts, “gimme the bottle” 

 

“Gimme the baby,” Adam replies, shuffles his way down under Ronan’s blankets and leans in against Ronan’s side, “I’ll feed her.” 

 

“Aw,” Ronan sneers, “getting all clucky and maternal there, Parrish?” 

 

“If you’re trying to be insulting,” Adam says, lifting a sniffling Aisling out of Ronan’s unprotesting arms, “you’d do better to try and insult me on something that you’re not 100% guilty of as well.” 

 

“Do you feel insulted?” Ronan asks. 

 

Arms free of Aisling, he slides back down under his sheets until his forehead is pressed against Adam’s hip.

 

“Nah,” Adam says. He has Aisling caught gently in his arms, is looking down at her with a tenderness unexpected. “Honestly,” he says after a few moments in which the only noise is Gansey’s snoring and Aisling’s sucking, “I - I like this a lot more - this isn’t as awful as I thought it would be.” 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says, “how awful did you think it would be? And what are we talking about? Sharing a bed with Gansey? It is a bit like sharing a bed with a horse, isn’t it?” 

 

“Yes,” Adam snorts, “god, he kicks so  _ hard _ .” 

 

“Fuck yeah,” Ronan laughs, “I swear he bruised me once. I bet he’s dreaming about running to Glendower.” 

 

“Mountain top kiss,” Adam says, “in the rain.” 

 

“Beautiful,” Ronan says. 

 

“Holding her,” Adam says, “being gentle with her.” 

 

“What?” Ronan says. 

 

“It’s easy,” Adam says, “it’s easy. She’s so… soft. I don’t - she doesn’t make me mad.” 

 

Ronan does not say, ‘why would she make you mad?’ Neither does he say, ‘god you’re a sop.’ 

 

“He - everyone,” Adam continues, voice low, “they always say like, you just get so mad - ‘cos, babies. Kids. They’re just - y’know. They cry a lot.” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says. 

 

“I get why Gans doesn’t want to hold her though,” Adam says, voice firming up a little, “‘cos you don’t wanna hurt her, and she’s so squiggly. Dropping her could be - and with Gansey being so - well.” 

 

“Gansey being so what?” Ronan asks, “Because I don’t get what he’s so freaked out about. He’s no more likely to drop her than I am.” 

 

“Y’know,” Adam says again, tilts the bottle so the milk continues to flow properly. “He’s got this thing about -” he begins, sighs, clears his throat, “ - about belonging. About - uh - sometimes I think he thinks he’s cursed.” 

 

“Cursed with a terrible name,” Ronan says, because that’s easy to say, and everything else being said is hard to hear. 

 

“Yeah,” Adam snorts, “yeah. But. Look, just, I’m rambling. I dunno.” 

 

“Fuck, Parrish,” Ronan says, shifts himself up onto his elbow, “you can’t just start some deep and mysterious conversation and then just drop it.” 

 

“I’m half asleep,” Adam says, “and feeding your baby. I can do anything I want.” 

 

“Fuck you,” Ronan says without heat. Drops his head back down on his pillow. “You’re good with her.” 

 

“Yeah,” Adam says, “yeah.” 

 

“You’re meant to reply and say I’m good with her too,” Ronan snorts. 

 

Adam laughs outright then. Gansey snores halt, he snuffles a bit, and then the snoring continues. 

 

“Ok,” Adam says, “you’re surprisingly good with her too. No one has dropped her. She appears to be happy-ish. We’re doing ok.” 

 

“You can just stay up here with me if you like,” Ronan says then, “if you don’t want to get back into kicking Gansey territory.”

 

“Ok,” Adam says. 

 

-

 

Morning comes alongside the fucking smelliest shitty nappy Ronan has ever encountered. He hasn’t actually encountered that many, but he thinks this will trump whatever he comes across in the future. 

 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he mumbles, finds it much easier to deal with wiping shit from every fucking crevice of a baby if he’s keeping up a soothing chant, “how the fucking fuck did you expel this much fucking shit from your tiny fucking body you fucking shit machine, fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

 

He’s performing this mission in the actual bath because there’s nowhere else in the flat that offers such an easily cleanable space, and also because he needs something that can contain them. Everyone else refuses to enter the room until the shit is dealt with. 

 

Gansey had grabbed a bag of cheerios, and Adam had grabbed an entire bottle of juice, and then they had shut Ronan in with the smell and the baby. 

 

“You’re all cowards,” he calls at the door, to no response, then looks back down at Aisling who is somehow not ever phased by the fuss happening over her. “And you,” he says to her, “are a menace. An awfully fucking cute one, but fucking wow, I’m only feeding you milk. What the hell, Ais?” 

 

By the time he reappears, Aisling clean, new nappy on, horrors etched into his mind, the bag of cheerios is empty, and so is the juice. 

 

“We’re fucking lucky her jumpsuit somehow managed to keep all the shit inside,” he grumbles as he plops Aisling down into Adam’s lap on the couch, “or else we’d all need a scalding hot shower too.” 

 

“You gonna make her breakfast?” Adam asks cheerfully. He had been looking up police reports it appeared, and had shifted the laptop off of his lap to receive Aisling, but continued to scroll through the pages with his free hand. 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, “and coffee. Find anything?” 

 

“Found a lot,” Adam says, “nothing about Aisling though. The world is a fucking awful place.” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, “so I keep saying.” 

 

-

 

He’s just waiting on the coffee to finish brewing, having already delivered Aisling and Adam the milk, when Gansey starts making squawking noises from the lounge. 

 

“Oh, oh, oh!” He calls, in a very passable impression of a sudden orgasm. 

 

“What the fuck,” Ronan calls back, stepping out of the kitchen/bathroom, empty mugs in hand. 

 

“I was talking to Malory about this a bit yesterday,” Gansey says, excitedly, “and he suggested I look at some parenting forums? And also some pagan parenting forums? Stuff like that?” 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says. 

 

Aisling has stopped feeding, is just staring at Gansey in shock at his sudden outburst. She looks like a stunned starfish. 

 

“So I did,” Gansey crows, “and I just found this series of posts from a couple asking about - well - about - it sounds like it’s talking about her  _ dreaming _ .” 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says again. 

 

“They’re saying here - look, they’ve only been posting for a few weeks, but with such  _ frequency  _ \- they keep saying strange things are happening around her. Like, ok, a week and a half ago, they posted saying she woke up from her nap surrounded by a pool of milk. And, here, the next day, woke them up in the middle of the night wrapped in a blanket that was  _ crying _ -” 

 

“Hey,” Noah says, suddenly appearing behind Gansey, “do you think her massive shit was a baby dream. Like, babies don’t know much, so the stuff they bring back is literally shit?” 

 

“What the fuck, Noah,” Gansey says, very startled, almost drops his computer. 

 

“Oh my God,” Adam says. 

 

Aisling burps loudly. 

 

“Ronan,” Gansey presses, “what do you think?” 

 

“I don’t know,” Ronan says. “I don’t know. Did they even say she’s missing? This could be about some other baby.” 

 

“Oh right,” Gansey says, “sorry, yes. I forgot to mention, I got distracted, look -” he swivels the laptop around on his lap towards them. Adam, close, leans in a little, and Ronan strides across the room to sit down behind him to look at the screen. “Here,” Gansey says, jabs at the screen. “A week ago, they say that she - she disappears for a few moments at a time while asleep.” 

 

“Who the fuck are these parents?” Noah asks, “Who are posting these terrifying baby things online?” 

 

“What are people commenting?” Adam asks. 

 

“Do they say she’s fully disappeared now, though?” Ronan presses. 

 

“Most of the other commenters are torn between saying she’s the anti-christ, Jesus reborn, or a changeling,” Gansey says to Adam, “I suppose they’re worried about the government taking their baby away,” he says to Noah, “although posting online doesn’t seem the wisest to me. And yes,” he says to Ronan, “their last few posts are all about it. She went to sleep and disappeared, and she’s not been back. The timing checks out.” 

 

“They’ve not fucking reported it?” Ronan asks, possibley more outraged than he ought to be. 

 

“No,” Gansey says, “no. They’re - they say here that the longest she’s disappeared before is … uh … six hours. Over night. But, yeah. It does sound like they’re worrying a lot more now.” 

 

“Well yeah,” Adam says, “it’s been a fuck load longer than six hours.” 

 

“Where are they?” Ronan asks, “How far away? Are they in America? How do we contact them? Is there a photo so we can make sure it’s Aisling?” 

 

“Who else could it be?” Adam says, which, Ronan thinks, is unfair. 

 

“Uh,” Gansey says, “oh wow, you were right the other day.” 

 

“What?” 

 

“Invercargill,” Gansey says, “that’s in New Zealand. One of those wacky far away places you mentioned?”

 

“What the hell,” Ronan says. “God, Mary Fuck.” 

 

“No photos,” Gansey continues slowly, “I think,” he says, scrolls up and down, clicks around, “I think they were trying at least  _ some _ privacy? Not very well. I mean, it says they live in New Zealand, so like, that’s not going to be hard to track them down if someone really wanted to, even without names.” 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says, “Contact. How to contact.” 

 

“I could email them?” Gansey says, “They have their email on the forum.” 

 

“I bet they get a lot of emails from nutjobs about it though,” Adam says, “so we’re gonna need to make sure ours stands out.” 

 

“How about, ‘we have your baby’,” Noah suggests. 

 

“What the fuck, Noah,” Ronan snaps, “we’re not holding her hostage.” 

 

“Well what do you suggest?” Noah snaps back. 

 

“Let’s call Declan,” Adam says, “he’s the only one of us who’s been around a baby dreamer before.” 

 

“Sure,” Ronan snaps, “when he was one. It’s not like he’s the expert, Parrish.” 

 

“He did say he was good with dream people,” Adam points out, unaffected by the snapping, “he felt like she was a dream person even though he knew she wasn’t a  _ dream _ .” 

 

“Wait,” Gansey says, “are we still debating whether or not she’s a dreamer?” 

 

“We should be,” Ronan says stiffly, “we don’t have any proof she is yet.” 

 

“These posts seem rather conclusive,” Gansey counters. 

 

“There’s no  _ proof _ ,” Ronan repeats, “and anyway, why the hell would she dream herself into  _ my _ dream.” 

 

“Dream magic?” Noah suggests. 

 

“Give me your phone, Ronan,” Adam says, “I’ll call Declan.” 

 

Ronan hands his phone over. Adam calls Declan. Ronan reads the forum. Gansey finishes making the coffee.

 

-

 

“You never disappeared,” Declan says, “I’ve not heard of dreamers disappearing into their dreams before.” 

 

“She is very small though,” Noah points out, “so maybe she just gets lost in them.” 

 

“I - uh -” Ronan says, “I remember dreaming into dad’s dreams. Not often. He didn’t like that. But sometimes. I would dream into them. Maybe, maybe that’s what she’s been doing?” 

 

“You’ve not seen her in your dreams since then, though, have you?” Declan asks, “None of this is making very much sense.” 

 

“The crying blanket, though,” Gansey points out, “the puddle of milk.” 

 

“Yes, ok,” Declan concedes. “Yes. That does make me think she’s a dreamer. But I don’t get the slipping into the dream thing. What’s going on there?” 

 

“I thought dreaming was genetic, though?” Adam asks then, “Her parents seem to have no clue what’s going on.” 

 

“It’s a mutation,” Declan says, “it is also passed down through genetics, sometimes, obviously. I’m not a dreamer. But it starts as a mutation. It’s unlikely her parents have it, or even, that any of her relatives have it.” 

 

“So we’re agreed,” Gansey presses, “she’s a dreamer.” 

 

“God, Gans,” Ronan snaps, “can we just - sure, we fucking agree. She’s a dreamer.” 

 

He can feel everyone’s eyes on him, but it’s Adam who stands up, Aisling still in his hands. 

 

“Chill out,” he says calmly, leans forward to place Aisling into Ronan’s arms, “you’re still special.” 

 

Ronan scowls at him. 

 

“I’m not -” he begins, “that’s not it,” he says, “it’s just - yes. Ok, she’s a dreamer, yes. But how the hell did she - why is she  _ here _ that’s no answer to why she’s here.” 

 

“I think,” Declan says, “it’s a dreamer thing.” 

 

“God, thanks,” Ronan snaps, “so glad we have a fucking expert on the topic.” 

 

Declan ignores him. 

 

“You dreamed better, easier, when you’re around other dreamers, yeah?” Declan says to him, “With dad. Even with, fuck, even with fucking Joseph Kavinsky. It was easier to dream around another dreamer?” 

 

“Sure,” Ronan says. 

 

“So,” Declan says, “my theory is that dreamers dream better together, however, with a mutation causing a dreamer, there’s no one to dream with.” 

 

“Oh I see,” Gansey says, enlightened. 

 

Declan continues anyway, because he likes to carry things out to the bitter end.

 

“I suppose,” he says, “as a baby, you have no rules enforced upon you on how you  _ think _ you ought to be dreaming, so she just dreams. And her dreams understand that to dream and  _ dream  _  you need to be with other dreamers, so her dreams found yours. And voila.” 

 

“And voila,” Ronan repeats blandly, “doesn’t explain the previous disappearances.” 

 

“As much as it sounds stupid,” Adam says here, nudges at Ronan until he sits down on the couch, Aisling bundled against his shoulder, “I agree with Noah. Perhaps she’s just small. Perhaps with no other dreamers around her dreams are too big and swallow her up entirely, suck her in. Maybe that’s why she’s not really dreaming here, because you’re here and you keep her stable.” 

 

“God,” Ronan snaps. 

 

“We should contact her parents,” Gansey says firmly, “we should send them an email with a photo of her to show we actually have her and we’re not just fucking around.” 

 

“We don’t want them to call the police on us, though,” Adam points out. 

 

“I don’t think they will,” Declan says. He’s taken the laptop from where Ronan had abandoned it precariously on the arm of the couch and is scrolling through the still open forums and multiple postings. “If they’re posting on websites like this rather than going through official routes, I don’t think they’d begin going through official routes now, not if we’re offering a solution, and also the return of their baby.”

 

“How are we gonna do that,” Adam asks then, “it’s not like they live a bus ride away.” 

 

“We’ll fly them over,” Gansey says easily, “or we’ll fly to them. It’ll be fine.” 

 

Adam sighs. 

 

“So,” Ronan says, “Gansey. Declan. You guys write the email.” 

 

“Sure,” Gansey says. 

 

“And what are you going to do?” Declan asks. 

 

“I’m gonna go put her down for a fucking nap,” Ronan snaps at him, “I think all her pooping and drinking exhausted her.” 

 

“We’ll need a photo,” Gansey points out. 

 

“Write the email first,” Ronan says. “You can get a photo later. Maybe when she’s asleep.” 

 

He leaves them to it. 

 

-

 

Adam doesn’t knock on the door before he pushes it open. 

 

“Hey,” he says. 

 

Ronan is stretched out along the bed. Aisling lying in the crook of his arm, eyes shut, fist in her mouth. 

 

“Hey.” 

 

“You always knew you’d have to give her back, eventually,” Adam says, “you didn’t want to keep her.” 

 

“I know,” Ronan says. 

 

Adam perches on the edge of the bed. 

 

“If she’s a dreamer,” Ronan says, “why hasn’t she dreamed while she’s here with me. Just because I’m balancing her out?” 

 

“Maybe,” Adam shrugs. 

 

“I’ve not been dreaming much, either,” Ronan says, “so I dunno how I’m balancing her out.” 

 

“You had to take her out of the dream,” Adam points out, “maybe that was enough balancing for a while.” 

 

Ronan shrugs. 

 

“Hey,” Adam says again, rests his hand on Aisling’s buoyant stomach, “y’know her parents will probably want to keep in close touch with you. Because you’ll be the one with all the answers. You’re not gonna just… lose her.” 

 

“She’s not mine to lose,” Ronan snaps, “why are you assuming I’m fucking upset about losing  _ her _ .” 

 

Adam rolls his eyes. “Because you are,” he says dryly, “but yeah. I get that you  _ think _ you’re just upset about the idea of suddenly having another dreamer, and then being the only dreamer around again. I get it, Lynch. It’s scary.” 

 

“Shut the fuck up,” Ronan groans, “stop - you keep - just stop.” 

 

“If she exists,” Adam persists, “there’ll be others out there. You heard, Declan, it’s a mutation as well as a genetic thing. You’re not alone, Lynch.” 

 

“So what,” Ronan says, “I’m just gonna fucking steal all other dreamers from their live?.” 

 

“You didn’t steal Aisling,” Adam says, even though he’s been teasing Ronan that he  _ did _ steal the baby since she had turned up, “she got lost in a dream and got in trouble. And stuck. That’s not your fault. You helped. Who knows what the hell would have happened if you hadn’t been there.” 

 

“I know,” Ronan says, “if I hadn’t been there, neither would the danger. She would have just been in a random dream scape shitting thing until she woke up, and then she would be home again. But because she was in  _ my _ dream with me and my fucked up shit, she got my monsters, and my dangers, and my shitting  _ shit-”  _

 

“Ok, Lynch, ok,” Adam says. His hand has moved from Aisling’s stomach to Ronan’s. “You’re gonna wake her up. Ok. I get it. That’s not your fault though. It’s no one’s fault. It’s just a thing that happened. Like the mutation that made her a dreamer. It’s just a thing that happened. Ok?” 

 

Ronan closes his eyes. 

 

“Ok?” 

 

“Whatever,” Ronan says, “whatever.” 

 

“Anyway,” Adam says, “you heard Calla. She is  _ yours. _ Somehow. So.” 

 

“Whatever,” Ronan says again. 

 

“Do you think she’s dreaming now?” Adam asks, blessedly changing the subject. “What do you think she’s dreaming about?” 

 

“So long as it isn’t another giant shit,” Ronan grunts, “I don’t care.” 

 

“There’s a whole cupboard back at home with things you dreamed when you were a baby,” Declan says, also not knocking before entering. “It’s shit like… unpoppable milk bubbles, detached breasts, blanket like...things. Also a small shrub that sings lullabies if you’re sad around it.” 

 

“That’s cute,” Adam says, “also really creepy. Detached breasts, really?” 

 

“Really,” Declan says flatly. I don’t even want to know what went through our parent’s heads when they decided to keep them. I’m here to take Aisling’s photo.” 

 

“Have you already finished writing the email?” Adam asks, and Declan shakes his head. 

 

“No. I just - we thought we may as well take the photo now.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says. Looks to Ronan. 

 

“Whatever,” Ronan grunts, “don’t put my face in it.” 

 

“I wasn’t going to,” Declan says calmly, crossing over to the bed and kneeling gingerly on the edge of the mattress, “if the parents do decide they want to contact the police, we don’t want them to have a photo leading directly to you. Especially when your image is probably all over police networks.” 

 

“Fuck you,” Ronan shoots at him. 

 

“Behave,” Declan retorts, grabs his phone from his jeans pocket. “Can you angle her so her face is a little less smushed into your arm?” 

 

“Here,” Adam says, reaching over before Ronan can move, and shifting Aisling’s head carefully. “Should I try and lower her fist too?” he asks Ronan, “So they can see her face better?” 

 

“She might wake up,” Ronan says, “but go on.” 

 

Adam shifts Aisling’s hand out of her mouth, Aisling screws her face up like she’s about to cry, but she’s asleep, so the message doesn’t quite make it to her lungs, and after a few tense moments, her face smooths up again. 

 

Declan takes the photo. 

 

“I was thinking,” Declan says, staring intently down at his phone screen. 

 

“What.” Ronan responds. 

 

“I was thinking,” Declan repeats, swipes through the photos he took. “If maybe you should try and dream into her dream. If that would be useful. Who knows how much longer we’ll have her. You should see if you can sooner, rather than later.” 

 

“We haven’t even contacted her parents yet,” Adam points out, “I don’t think there’s a huge rush.” 

 

“I do want to know if we’re right about the dreaming,” Ronan mumbles, “maybe.” 

 

“I’ll go get this photo attached to the email,” Declan says. “Think about it.” 

 

-

 

“If I try right now,” Ronan says, “will you stay here.” 

 

“Why?” Adam asks, “You think something will go wrong?” 

 

“No,” Ronan replies quickly, “no. I just --- In case.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says, “go on then.” 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says, shuts his eyes. 

 

“Are you asleep?” Adam asks. Ronan can hear the grin in his voice. 

 

“Fuck off,” Ronan says. 

 

-

 

The first thing Ronan thinks is that babies’ dreams are incredibly boring. The second thing Ronan thinks is that this dream is probably literally a dream about being in-utero. The third thing he thinks is that he does not know how he’s supposed to fucking approach a dream about being inside a womb with a small baby.

All of this is, technically, making a lot of sense, but it feels very senseless. 

 

Also senseless, how disjointed he feels here. He supposes, this is a baby thing. Thoughts are a lot less connected. They just happen. As needed. When felt.

Sometimes soft like the warmth of the dream surrounding them and.

Sometimes a bit harder because holy fucking shit on a raft, apparently sneezing is terrifying, and even dreaming about sneezing is a little terrifying. Or at least. He thinks that’s what’s happened. 

 

Things stay disjointed for a period of time. Ronan isn’t sure if it’s just a few heartbeats worth of time, or if even maybe an hour has passed, but then he’s suddenly flat on his back in the moss and sunshine of cabeswater, Aisling tummy to tummy on him.

 

“Huh,” he says, because now he feels like he’s allowed to speak again, “sorry baby, did I tip us out of your dream?” 

 

There isn’t a reply, which is good, because Ronan has no idea how he would have reacted if Aisling could fucking talk in their dreams. She gurgles a little at him instead. 

 

“You miss your mum?” Ronan says then, “You miss not having to function as a human being?” 

 

Aisling gurgles again. It is a very interesting conversation. 

 

“I guess this is useful, isn’t it?” Ronan says to her, lifts his head up to peer down at her, “Now we know for sure you’re a wee dreamer too? Yeah? You being in here. You having your own dreams. Look at you, a little magic baby.” 

 

Aisling farts. 

 

“No,” Ronan sighs, “nah. No. Let’s not do that dream again.” 

 

Aisling farts again. 

 

“God damnit,” Ronan says. 

 

-

 

“Hey,” Adam laughs as Ronan blinks awake, “did her farting wake you up too?” 

 

“What?” Ronan asks. 

 

“She farted herself awake,” Adam says, seems to be struggling to speak through his laughter, “you should’a seen her face, she was so shocked.” 

 

“Ah,” Ronan says, snorts, “possibly.” 

 

“So?” Adam asks. He’s sitting right next to Ronan and Aisling on the bed, is leaning in over them, face hanging above Ronan’s. It’s a lot to take in after taking a quick nap in baby world. 

 

“God,” Ronan groans, Aisling also groans, but Ronan thinks that’s more to do with gas than Adam and all his freckles and his eyes and his mouth being so close to them. “I just woke the fuck up, Parrish.” 

 

“Yeah,” Adam says, “and what did you find out?” 

 

“I found out that your patience is a myth,” Ronan snipes at him, “she’s a dreamer.” 

 

“Oh!” Adam says, not shock, but happiness, “How?” 

 

“‘Cos I spent who the fuck knows how long in like… fetus town? She was dreaming about being in the womb again, I guess.” 

 

“That must’ve been pretty trippy,” Adam laughs, “do you feel reborn?” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, “sure. Shift your fucking face, will you?” 

 

-

 

Declan and Gansey wait until Ronan, Aisling, and Adam reappear before they send the email. Ronan almost wishes they don’t, even though he knows they’re just doing it so he can be happy with what they’re sending. It’s just. The thing is; he’s not going to be happy with what they’re sending, because the more he thinks about it, the more he doesn’t think about it even, the more it just sits in his fucking gut, he doesn’t want to let go of Aisling. He wants her right here in his arms because she’s  _ like him _ . Because if she goes back to her parents who don’t even seem freaked out enough that their baby - their  _ baby _ \- is missing, and what if she goes back to them and they don’t want Ronan to stay in contact, and what if she grows up feeling wrong and broken, and what if she gets hurt because dreaming can be so fucking scary and you can bring out the worst shit and - 

 

He says, yeah, whatever, send the fucking emails you dick heads, someone hold Ais, I need’a piss. 

 

They send the email. 

 

Adam takes Aisling because he’s closest and his hands are already reaching out for her. 

 

Ronan takes a piss. 

 

When he gets back into the main room, Gansey is sitting in the middle of the couch, back very straight, and Adam is slowly putting Aisling into his arms. Declan is watching from a few feet away, looking very amused. Noah is lying on his stomach on the floor laughing at him. 

 

“Did you finally tease Gans into overcoming his fears?” Ronan asks, crosses the room to slouch across the back of the couch. 

 

“Adam has pointed out that if I am sitting on the couch I am unlikely to drop her,” Gansey says stiffly. Aisling is basically in his arms now but he isn’t actually holding onto her, Adam is still holding her up, looking a little exasperated. 

 

“He also suggested that if Aisling’s appearance is connected somehow to Glendower or something,” Noah says, “then he would be a fool to pass up an opportunity to hold her.” 

 

“It’s true,” Ronan says, reaches over Gansey’s shoulder to poke Aisling’s cheek gently. “Maybe if you and all your finding magic holds her  _ properly, Gansey _ , suddenly everything will drop into place. She could be the key to finding Glendower. She could be an oddly shaped dowsing rod.”

 

“Don’t be inane,” Gansey mutters, but follows Adam’s nudged insistence to actually wrap his arms around Aisling, “I thought we’d agreed that she’s here for you, not for me.” 

 

“Yeah,” Noah says from the floor, “maybe. But we think you’d look super cute holding a baby, and look at that! You do. Photos, someone?” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> babies babies babies babies babies babies


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey I finished it! This last chapter has been sitting very almost finished for a month so sorry about that y'all. Heoi ano! Anei, kua mutu ahau!

 

They get an email in reply surprisingly quickly. Or possibly not surprisingly, seeing as these people were missing their baby and were seeking help online, so obviously they’d be near their computers or phones or whatever. 

Declan had left, maybe a few hours ago. They’d eaten dinner, had started the process of going to bed when Gansey called out from the bathroom. He’s in the bathroom doorway now, leaning out into the main room,  spitting toothpaste foam everywhere, holding his phone up excitedly. 

 

“They’re replied!” He burbles through his mouthful of mint, “Ronan!” 

 

“Oh,” Ronan says from by his bedroom door. “Good.” 

 

Adam pops his head out from behind Ronan, he’s got Aisling against his shoulder and an intrigued expression on his face. 

 

“What does it say?” he asks. 

 

Noah gets up from the couch. Or, he appears from within the couch, or, something. 

 

“Ronan should read it first,” he says, “shouldn’t he?” 

 

“Yes,” Gansey agrees, “yes, Ronan. Come take the phone - and I - uh - I’ll rinse my mouth out.” 

 

“Ugh,” Ronan says. He doesn’t want to. Adam knees in the ass. “God. Fine.” 

 

He stomps across the floor between them, snatches the phone from Gansey. Doesn’t make to look at it yet. Adam crosses after him, a little slower, moving fluidly so as not to disturb Aisling who is on the very verge of sleep. She’s been fed, burped, changed, and rocked, and now she’s all just a bundle of loose limbs and milk breath. 

 

“Open it,” Adam says, comes in to lean his chin on Ronan’s shoulder, “may as well get it over with.” 

 

“I’m waiting for Gansey,” Ronan grunts, “don’t pressure me, Parrish.” 

 

Gansey appears in the doorway again, a little cleaner, some toothpaste still smeared on his chin. Ronan leans in, wipes it off with his phone free hand. 

 

“Ok,” Gansey says, “I’m here. So. Will you read it?” 

 

“Aloud?” Ronan asks. 

 

“If you want,” Gansey says cheerfully, “do you not want to read it first?” 

 

“You gave it to me,” Ronan snaps, “so I’m gonna read it first.” 

 

Aisling jerks a little at Ronan’s tone against Ronan’s back where Adam’s pressed her against him. Adam makes a soft noise to her, and she calms again. 

 

“Couch,” Ronan grunts, glances over his shoulder at Adam and Aisling. “I wanna sit the fuck down for this.” 

 

They make their way to the couch, Noah shuffling about onto the arm of it to make more room, and Adam and Gansey squish in on either side of Ronan. 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says. Unlocks Gansey’s phone. Thumbs into the emails, into the email in question. “Ok,” he says. 

 

“‘Dear Richard,’” he reads, “‘we were so relieved to receive your email. We trusted that whatever magic our extraordinary baby had would be keeping her safe, but we have to admit we worried nonetheless -’” Ronan snorts, “No shit,” he says scathingly, “‘You can imagine how pleased we are to hear that she has found her way to magic that is similar to her own. We weren’t sure how to go about helpfully raising her when we did not understand the magic around her. You said in your email you were in America (astounding that she traveled so far!). Was your offer of coming to New Zealand sincere? Otherwise we will book the next flights possible to you as soon as you give us an airport to land in. Thank you for keeping Aisling safe -’ hold up one fucking moment,” Ronan interrupts his own reading, “hold the fucking fuck up.” 

 

“What?” Gansey asks. 

 

“Aisling,” Adam mumbles, leans in over Ronan’s arm to look at the phone. 

 

“They called her Aisling in the email,” Ronan says to Gansey, “you didn’t mention we were calling her Aisling in your email, did you?” 

 

“Of course not,” Gansey says, “besides, you read that email, you ought to know that. So does this mean -?” 

 

“Hell,” Ronan snorts, “and here I thought I was being original or some shit, coming up with a baby name, I must have accidentally dreamed it or something.” 

 

“Coincidence,” Gansey says, smiles. 

 

Ronan scowls. Continues reading. 

 

“‘- we are forever in your debt. Looking forward to meeting you and your magically inclined friends as soon as possible. Yours, Gwen and Fergus Abbot.’ So, we have their names now. And yours,” he adds to Aisling, “little Aisling Abbot.” 

 

“Right then,” Gansey says, he seems suddenly shot up with energy. “Do we go to them or should we ask them to come here?” 

 

“I want to go there,” Ronan says suddenly, mind made up before he had even realised it, “I want to see what they’re like in their environment. I want to see where she’s going to have to grow up.” 

 

“Make sure she’s not growing up in a hovel?” Adam asks dryly. 

 

“In a hobbit hole?” Noah chips in, wryly. 

 

“No,” Ronan snaps, “I just - if they’re shitty people they can probably hide it a little here, but people’s houses say every fucking thing about them. I want to see their house.” 

 

“Well,” Gansey says. Sighs, “I suppose we can wrangle some time off school. No longer than a week, though. I’ll talk to Principal Child’s tomorrow.” 

 

“You don’t have to fucking come,” Ronan points out, “Declan and me could do it.” 

 

“I’m coming,” Gansey says sternly, “obviously.” 

 

Adam is stiff and still beside them. 

 

“I can’t afford -” Adam mumbles, “- I have work. And - I can’t afford the time off school - not with the scholarship - and -” 

 

Well fuck. Of course, Ronan knew theoretically that Adam wouldn’t be coming. It made sense, it’s not like he could afford to lose the money. Still. Fuck. Fucking fuck. 

 

“Well,” Gansey says cautiously, in his stupid, stupid ‘I’m about to suggest something that Adam will hate’ voice. “I could speak to Child’s for you, and - uh - obviously we would pay your tickets, and we could also -” 

 

“Gansey,” Ronan grunts, “shut the hell up. We don’t need a fight right now.” 

 

Adam is still stiff beside him. Aisling has drifted off to sleep. 

 

“You should email them back,” he says to Ronan, “let them know you’ll come to them. ASAP. They’ll want to know.” 

 

“Yeah,” Gansey nods, “do you want me to type it up?” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says. “We should tell Declan. I think he’ll want to come.” 

 

“Yes,” Gansey agrees, takes the phone back from Ronan. 

 

“I should go home,” Adam says, “here, she’s asleep, take her, will you?” 

 

“Adam -” Gansey says. 

 

Adam shakes his head. He carefully deposits Aisling into Ronan’s arms, and then disappears into Ronan’s room, ostensibly to get his things. 

 

Ronan sighs. Shifts under Aisling’s warmth, and then slowly puts her into Gansey’s arms. Stands up to follow Adam. 

 

“I should talk to him,” Gansey protests, quiet under the sleeping baby. 

 

“No,” Ronan sighs, “you shouldn’t. It’ll just piss him off more right now.” 

 

“Don’t leave me with her,” Gansey says, “what if she gets upset?” 

 

“Oi,” Noah says by his elbow, “I’m right here. You’re not going to be left alone.” 

 

Ronan waves one hand in dismissal. 

 

He feels like an idiot knocking on the doorframe of his own door, but he does it anyway, and then pushes the door open. 

 

Adam is crouched by the desk, zipping his stupidly raggy backpack up. 

 

“I thought you were gonna stay tonight,” Ronan says flatly. 

 

“Yeah,” Adam says, “but honestly I shouldn’t. I have an early shift at the factory tomorrow.” 

 

“I know,” Ronan says, “Gansey was going to drive you.” 

 

“It’ll be easier if I just go home,” Adam says. 

 

“Weren’t you the one telling me that it’s best Ais goes home?” Ronan says then, “Why are you so upset?” 

 

“I’m not upset,” Adam says loudly. Not yelling by any means, by it looks like it’s louder than he intended, because he slumps a little over his bag, then drops to his ass, and shuffles around on the floor to look at Ronan. “I’m glad she’s going home to her parents,” he says, much more calmly, “I’m glad we’re found her parents. I’m glad.” 

 

“You want to come,” Ronan says. 

 

“Obviously,” Adam says, snaps it, “but I can’t. I  _ won’t _ . So what’s the point in wanting?” 

 

“I want you to come too,” Ronan says, “you make it fucking easier.” 

 

“Shut up,” Adam sighs, closes his eyes, tips his head back against desk drawers, “just...shut up.” 

 

“It’d be educational,” Ronan says, crosses the room to drop down next to Adam in the mess of clothes and dream shit on the floor, “experiencing a different culture.”

 

“Lynch,” Adam says. 

 

“What if her parents are shit?” Ronan says, “What if they suck and I need someone to help me steal her, and we know Gansey won’t help me steal her because he’s too straight laced for that shit.” 

 

That’s little bit of a lie.

 

“Declan would help,” Adam says. 

 

“We could go over the weekend,” Ronan says, “It’s a long one, teacher’s conference on Friday. Just take Thursday and Monday off.” 

 

“I still have work in the weekend,” Adam says. 

 

“Fuck that,” Ronan says, “fuck it. Just - fuck it, Adam. You can pay me back for the tickets, when you’re off working and making your millions. You can afford to take the weekend off work. Your grades are shitting perfect. Let Gansey make your excuses to fucking Childs. Just -” 

 

“Why?” Adam snaps. 

 

“I want you there,” Ronan snaps back, “I  _ need  _ you there.” 

 

Adam just stares at him for a moment. Clears his throat. Apparently this was not the sort of response he had been expecting. He ought to have been though. It wasn’t as if Ronan was being vague about what he wanted. It wasn’t like he was being subtle. 

 

“I’ll pay you back,” Adam says. “I will.” 

 

“Yeah you will,” Ronan snaps, “I’m not fucking made of money.” 

 

“You kind of are, a bit,” Adam says. “I’m going to talk to Childs. I don’t want Gansey advocating on my behalf about this.” 

 

“Will you stay tonight?” Ronan asks. 

 

Adam looks at him a little bit like he thinks Ronan is pushing him too hard, too far. Then he looks down at his backpack and shoves it. 

 

“Sure,” he says. “Whatever.” 

 

-

 

Gansey is obviously surprised at Adam’s complete and utter turnaround, but he doesn’t comment. Either because he knows it’s probably fragile and doesn’t want to risk breaking it, or, because he doesn’t want to know in case it involved coercion. He gives Aisling back to Adam when they come back out into the main room. Ronan calls Declan. Gansey writes the email. They go to bed. 

 

Again, they all end up in Ronan’s room, which is honestly still just  _ weird _ because Ronan’s room is not a public place, and yet, he can’t bring himself to be grumpy about it being suddenly the main sleeping room. Again, Adam and Gansey share Gansey’s mattress on the floor while Ronan and Aisling sleep on Ronan’s bed just above them. 

 

This time Adam goes to sleep first, is gone almost before the lights are even out, and Ronan and Gansey lie there in the soft susurrus of Adam and Aisling’s breathing. 

 

“I’m glad Adam’s coming with us,” Gansey says. 

 

“Hm.” Ronan says. 

 

“Aisling’s parents will probably email again while we’re asleep,” Gansey says. 

 

“Hm.” 

 

“I’ve never been to New Zealand,” Gansey says, “it’ll be exciting.” 

 

“Hm.” 

 

“I’m sure her parents are good people, Ronan,” Gansey says, softer, “they’re just going through something weird right now.” 

 

“If your kid just disappeared,” Ronan mumbles into his pillow, “would you just ask the internet about it?” 

 

“We don’t know if that’s all they’ve done,” Gansey says, “they might very well have a community they’re talking to in person as well. But, if I didn’t have the resources and the people I do have, I wouldn’t know what to do about a suddenly magic child either. I mean, honestly, I still don’t. It’s a little out of my realm, Ro.” 

 

“I’d fucking tear this shitting world in half if anything happened to Aisling,” Ronan growls, “and she’s not even  _ mine _ .”

 

“‘Cos you’ve got anger issues,” Adam mumbles from somewhere under a blanket. 

 

Gansey jumps a little. He had been leaning over Adam, resting his arm on what looked to be Adam’s shoulders. 

 

“Oh,” he says, “you’re awake, sorry, am I squishing you? Are we too loud?” 

 

“Yes to all,” Adam says, “mostly because you’re using your worry voice, Gans.” 

 

Ronan snorts. Gansey doesn’t undrape himself from Adam, just tugs the blanket down a little so he can see Adam’s face. 

 

Aisling grumbles loudly at the room. 

 

“That’s my cue,” Adam says, “I’ll go make her milk.” 

  
  


-

  
  


The first thing Ronan thinks upon arriving in Invercargill is that maybe Aisling fucking dreamed her way to him because it was just too fucking cold at home.

 

It’s only four in the afternoon and it’s already dark and a little misty. They’d flown into Auckland first, and then got the connecting flight to Invercargill. They had to wait almost three whole hours for the flight, which is irritating. It was such a small country it felt like a waste flying, but Declan spent less than ten seconds pointing at the map to prove the point that flying was their only viable option unless Ronan wanted to spend the next day and a half in a car, on a boat, in a car again with a grumpy, travel bored infant. Having spent the few hours in an airport with nothing to do with a grumpy travel bored infant felt very similar, however.

 

The second thing Ronan thinks upon arriving in Invercargill is that Aisling’s parents look nothing like he had expected them to. They had agreed that it would be a good idea for them to meet at the airport, for the Abbot’s to have a sign to greet them with to cut down on any excessive searching. Ronan had had this stupid, almost fairy tale, assumption that Gwen and Fergus would be tall and dark and evil looking. Think Hela from Thor Ragnarok. Whatever evil looked like. Instead, the couple holding up the piece of card reading, ‘AISLING & BOYS’, looked the very opposite of his imaginings. Gwen was a short, not quite plump, lady, absolutely covered in freckles, and leaning into her husband. Fergus, only just taller than his wife, was dark skinned and warm looking. He was crying a little as Declan waved at them. 

 

This is good, Ronan has to tell himself. They look like parents. They look like loving parents. He holds Aisling tighter to his chest. She’s asleep, had been asleep for the entire flight from Auckland to Invercargill; possibly to make up for refusing to sleep the entire flight from San Fran to New Zealand. Stupidly, she’d slept the entire cross continent flight from DC to San Fran, in the more crowded day time plane, but had been awake and grumpy through the entire twelve hour late night flight to NZ. Ronan is exhausted, but too wired to feel it. He knows Adam, pressing in against his left side, is more exhausted than he is because he’d taken Aisling for the last flight so that Ronan could nap without worrying, but he’s standing even straighter than Ronan. Gansey is miraculously a ball of energy because apparently he sleeps  _ wonderfully  _ on planes. Declan looks right on the very edge of grumpy enough to start murdering people. 

 

As soon as the Abbot’s had made eye contact with Declan, they had dropped their sign, had all but run over to the group of them. 

 

“You’re really here,” Gwen sobs, nearly crashing into Declan, who steadies her easily, “I was half convinced this was all a joke, or a scam, or - I don’t know - a dream.” 

 

Her hands are outstretched to Ronan, and he knows she is expecting him to hand Aisling over. He knows she is. He knows he’s supposed to. This is the plan. This is why they are here. This is Aisling’s mother. Her father. Who WANT her. Adam nudges him gently in the side. Declan raises his eyebrows. 

 

“She’s been asleep for the last hour and a bit,” Ronan mumbles, peels her carefully off of his shoulder to hand her over. 

 

Gwen takes her swiftly, Ronan thinks it’s almost greedy, but he knows that’s just his own skewed vision of it. She cups the back of Aisling’s head carefully, brings her sleeping face close to hers. Appears to be just breathing in the smell of her. Fergus is pressed to his wife’s side, arms around her and the baby at once, head bowed over her. 

 

They all stand like this, an awkward ensemble of teenage boys watching a family reunite, for a few long moments, and then Fergus looks up at them. 

 

“She slept? Without disappearing?” he asks. He’s looking at Declan, because Declan looks to be the oldest and most mature, most likely. 

 

“She hasn’t disappeared while sleeping once,” Ronan mumbles. His arms, now empty, are folded tightly across his chest. Gansey has his hand on his lower back in a silent form of comfort. “We uh - we  _ theorise _ \- it’s because her dreaming energy is more focused around another dreamer.” 

 

Gwen is still staring down at Aisling, but Fergus shifts his gaze from Declan to Ronan. “And you’re the dreamer?” he asks. 

 

Ordinarily, this is a question Ronan thinks is very dangerous to answer. Today, the only danger he cares about is Aisling’s. 

 

“Yes,” he says firmly, “just like Aisling.”

 

Gwen finally looks up from Aisling, just to glance quickly around the airport, then back down at the baby’s soft cheeks, which are now being pressed against her shoulder. “Let’s go back to ours,” she says quietly, “and not discuss magic in public.” 

 

Ronan wants to point out that they had discussed magic very publicly all over the internet, a small airport was nothing in comparison to that. 

 

-

 

They all pile into a large van, Fergus says something about borrowing it from his ‘matua’ or something or rather, and it holds all the evidence of a van usually occupied by a horde of small children. 

 

“We have just a mini,” Gwen tells Adam. She’s buckling Aisling into a baby seat in the middle row of the van, Adam settled in the seat beside her, “which fits Gus, Ais, and me easily, but we figured it would not be big enough for all you large men.” 

 

Ronan very much wants to be either; a. Next to Asiling, or, b. Next to Adam. The fact that he is in the back of the van with Gansey is  _ fine _ , but at the same time intolerable. Declan is in the front passenger seat next to Fergus, talking in a low voice. 

 

-

 

Aisling wakes up as the engine starts, cries a little, and Gwen cries a little as well. Fergus stops the van, pulls over to the side of the road, also cries a little. Then Gwen leans over the baby seat, lifts her shirt up, and offers Aisling one large breast. Aisling is soothed, Gwen is still crying a little. Fergus, sniffing loudly, resumes driving. Adam looks a little bit terrified. Ronan wants to tease him about it, but he also thinks that if he was sitting right next to such a naked breast so suddenly he might also be surprised. 

 

-

 

The house they pull up outside of is small, but warm looking. There’s smoke coming out of the chimney, and the windows are lit dimly. They pile quickly out of the van and into the house, eager to get from one warm space to the next without spending too much time in the overwhelming chill of the outside, and Ronan can see that the house, just like the parents also doesn’t live up to his evil fairytale imagination. It’s a perfectly normal house. A bit of chipped paint. Comfy looking couches. Family photos everywhere. Paintings. Books. Blankets and cushions and baby clothes. The whole house smells like baking and something… smokey. 

 

“We figured we ought to feed you as soon as possible,” Fergus says once they’re all seated somewhere in the small lounge, Ronan squishing himself onto the small couch with Adam and Gansey, ass mostly on Adam’s knees rather than the couch cushion itself. “So we fired up our keg hangi. And Gwen here bakes when she’s worried, and we’ve been worried the entire time our pepi has been gone, so, there’s a lot of baking, which is probably useful as there are so many of you and you’re all so big.” 

 

“Sorry about that,” Gansey says smoothly, “we simply wanted to make sure there were enough of us to keep Aisling safe -” 

 

“And,” Declan butts in, a little less smoothly, “we couldn’t be sure if you were safe people, and there was no way in hell I was letting my younger brother and his school friends go overseas to meet strangers without me.” 

 

“Oh it’s not a problem,” Gwen says. She’s settled into a squashy looking armchair, Aisling still at her breast. Ronan thinks it’s unlikely Aisling is still hungry, she’s probably just reveling in the comfort of being with her mother again. “We’re both from big families, Gus and me, the more the merrier.” 

 

“I’m one of eight,” Fergus says easily, “we have all my siblings round here at least once a week. This is nothing, don’t worry.” 

 

“So,” Declan says, “why is it that none of them are here, today? Now?” 

 

“We didn’t want to frighten you,” Gwen says, “and we wanted to concentrate on our baby returning, not on introducing a million different people.” 

 

“Speaking of introductions,” Fergus says suddenly, “we haven’t actually done that, have we? I’m sorry. I’m sure you’ve gathered that I’m Gus, and this here is Gwen, but I’m afraid we don’t quite know who each of you are.” 

 

“I’m Declan Lynch,” Declan says. “My brother, Ronan, is the dreamer who your child attached herself to. He’s sitting on Adam Parrish and Richard Gansey, both of whom have been helping look after your child.”

 

Gwen looks to Ronan, then to the rest of them squished on the couch. Declan is standing by the arm of it, his hand resting heavily on Ronan’s shoulder. 

 

“And you are the only magic one?” she asks Ronan, “You were the only magnet drawing Aisling?” 

 

Ronan swallows. He wants to squash himself further down onto the couch. He glances up briefly at Declan, and then across at Adam and Gansey. 

 

“No,” he says, “I’m not the only magic one. I’m the only dreamer. As far as we can tell, that’s the only reason Aisling came to us. To me.” 

 

He can feel Declan staring at him. 

 

Gansey speaks. 

 

“We’ve been researching it as thoroughly as we can, as I’m sure you have too, but, I’ve devoted my entire life to studying the magical and supernatural, specifically surrounding the energy of...magic.  In this case we believe that what happened was simply the nature of this magic needing to draw on similar magic to feel more at ease. Ronan’s must have been the loudest, or possibly, the closest to Aisling for her to attach on to him. We think that because she is simply so small and new to dreaming, that once she found herself in Ronan’s magic she couldn’t get out because it’s much stronger.” 

 

“I’m not sure I understand,” Gwen says, which isn’t surprising. 

 

“Let me try and explain,” Ronan offers. 

 

-

 

He talks until his voice is hoarse. Adam talks for him as well. Declan stands and listens for the most part. Gansey interjects occasionally. Fergus and Gwen ask question after question. Aisling needs a nappy change. Ronan watches as Adam, seemingly out of habit, stands up and offers to do it. Also, seemingly out of habit, he returns Aisling to Ronan’s lap when he’s done. Gwen and Fergus just watch. Ronan thinks, that if he was them, he would insist on not letting Aisling out of his arms. On changing her nappy himself. But they just watch, a little nervous, maybe, but unprotesting, as Ronan wraps his arms around Aisling again. 

 

They eat. It turns out the ‘keg hangi’ Fergus had mentioned was a traditional Māori meal cooked in a less traditional Māori way. The traditional way, Gwen explained, was by digging a hole, burying your food, lighting a fire, and cooking it all underground. Fatty pork, and chicken, and potatoes, and kumara, and pumpkin, and huge cabbage leaves, all liberally coated in seasonings and stuffed with stuffing. The less traditional way, Fergus explained, was getting a beer keg, and refurbishing it almost like a pressure cooker, stuffing it with bamboo baskets and sweet wood chips and lighting a fire underneath it. Saves you from digging holes in your small garden and getting on the council blacklist. The result was smokey savoury food that dripped in your hands and melted in your mouth. 

 

After that they eat about a million sweet pies. 

 

Then they talk a bit more until Ronan thinks his voice box is actually going to grind itself down. Then they’re shown to the guest room. There are only two beds, but there are mattresses down on the floor as well, and an abundance of blankets and pillows. 

 

“When we have lots of whānau over we usually just push all the couches back and go Marae style in our lounge with all the mattresses,” Fergus says, “but we figured you four would probably prefer a room to yourself.” 

 

Ronan isn’t sure what ‘Marae style’ is but he assumes he agrees. 

 

Declan bags one of the actual beds, and Adam offers the other one to Gansey without consulting Ronan. Ronan thinks that at any other time he would kick up a (mostly fake) fuss about this, but he thinks, he  _ thinks _ , that Adam is doing this because he knows Ronan doesn’t want to sleep alone. 

 

Gwen and Fergus have gone away to their bedroom, Aisling in their arms. Because obviously they’re going to sleep with Aisling. They’re not going to just let Ronan take her to bed with him like he had been doing since she’d arrived. He’s not in charge of her anymore.

 

-

 

Gansey wants to talk when the lights are off, but Declan has had enough of being awake, and makes it very clear that talking is a not happening thing. They all lie in silence until Gansey’s faint snoring breaks the silence. 

 

Ronan tries to sleep. He does. He tries for a good half hour. Then Declan also starts snoring a little. Then he tries more. Then he rolls over and reaches his hand out across the minuscule gap between the mattresses on the floor to touch Adam’s elbow and Adam rolls over immediately to look at him. He doesn’t say anything, just pushes his blanket down and edges off of his mattress and onto Ronan’s while Ronan pulls his own blanket up to let Adam get in with him. 

 

“We should’a brought you a teddy bear,” Adam mumbles as he shuffles around on Ronan’s mattress until he’s lying down properly, “now you don’t have Aisling to cuddle at night.” 

 

“You’re the one who got into my bed,” Ronan points out, reaching out to wrap his arms cautiously around Adam’s middle, “you’re obviously the one who wants cuddling.” 

 

“You looked upset,” Adam replies, very quiet, “what was I supposed to do?” 

 

“Pretend to be asleep?” Ronan suggests, closes his eyes and Adam shuffles their bodies closer together, “I didn’t ask for this.” 

 

“I wish you would,” Adam sighs, “it’d make things a hell of a lot easier.” 

 

Ronan stays quiet for a long moment. Then he says; “I already miss her.” 

 

“I know,” Adam says, “but listen,” he adds, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb the sleepers on either side of them, “Gus and Gwen seem really lovely. They seem like they wanna know more, yeah? They seem like - they sound like they want you to stay in contact. They like you. They can see Ais likes you. You’re not gonna have to miss her too much.” 

 

“I can’t stay in New Zealand with her,” Ronan says, “and it’s not like they’ll let her just come back with me to hang out whenever I miss her. I think I’m gonna miss her a lot.” 

 

“What about in your dreams?” Adam asks, “You can see her in your dreams. Which, haha, I know that sounds like some pathetic attempt at comfort, and it would be if you two weren’t literal dreamers.” 

 

“The first time we met in a dream,” Ronan says, “she was in danger. I don’t know if that’s safe.” 

 

“You weren’t expecting it,” Adam says softly, “from what you’ve told me about the dream? No, listen. From what you’ve told me, it sounds like you got scared. You panicked. Your usual response to that, in your dreams, is the monsters. Wires got crossed. Of course your monsters came. You know her now. You wouldn’t have the same panic. I don’t think the monster would come.” 

 

Ronan thinks about this for a few moments, and then he tips his head up on the pillow so he can look at Adam a little easier. 

 

“Do you trust the Abbots?” 

 

Adam frowns down at him. .

 

“Yeah,” he says, “I - I don’t have any reason not to. They feel safe.” 

 

“Really?” Ronan asks, needs Adam to say this, “You don’t feel anything…. Anything bad about them?” 

 

Adam frowns more deeply. “No,” he says, “do you?” 

 

“No,” Ronan says, “I don’t. I just… needed your opinion.” 

 

“Why does my opinion matter?” Adam asks, like a dumbass, “I don’t have any cl-” 

 

“It matters,” Ronan says harshly, “you’re - you love Aisling. It matters.” 

 

Now Adam is silent for a few long moments. 

 

Declan breaks this silence. “Can you two please have your soppy conversations sometime when I’m not literally less than a metre away from you?” 

 

“Fuck you,” Ronan snaps. 

 

“And none of that here, either,” Declan replies easily, “go the fuck to sleep, the both of you.” 

 

Roan growls, but Adam appears nearly unaffected. He drops his head heavily on the pillow, presses his face forwards towards Ronan’s, and brushes his lips against Ronan’s forehead. 

 

Ronan does not think this is conducive to going the fuck to sleep. 

 

“Goodnight,” Adam whispers. Ronan thinks he’s going to crawl back out of Ronan’s bed and into his own, but instead, he just tucks his head down until it’s nestled against Ronan’s jawbone. 

 

“Uh,” Ronan says, “goodnight.”

 

-

  
  


Morning comes quickly. Ronan doesn’t realise at first because it’s still quite dark outside, but Adam’s watch is beeping, and the house is bustling around them, and he can hear Aisling. Not crying, just making noise because she can. He had almost hoped she would end up in his dream that night, but she hadn’t. Ronan thinks maybe it’s because she’s too tired to dream. Or because she’s still close enough to him that she doesn’t need to. The overly emotional and dramatic parts of him say shit like, ‘ok but what if like now she’s back with her parents she hates you and-’. 

 

Declan is already out of the room. Gansey is awake, but simply sitting up in his bed, looking down at Ronan and Adam who are curled together under the blankets. Ronan thinks he’s supposed to be embarrassed, and he can tell his cheeks are flushed, but his stomach isn’t twisting, so he’s not sure how he feels. Adam is still asleep, despite the fact that it was his watch that woke Ronan. 

 

“Gans,” Ronan says. Gansey swallows. 

 

“I didn’t realise,” Gansey says, “that that was how it was.” 

 

“It isn’t,” Ronan says, reconsiders quickly, “or not yet,” he says, “I don’t know. I - what do you think it is?” 

 

Gansey looks about as confused as Ronan feels. 

 

“I thought it was Adam helping out with Aisling in a more hands on way,” Gansey says, lowly, “but he was helping you, wasn’t he?” 

 

Ronan flushes abruptly, and Gansey looks at him, then flushes as well. 

 

“I didn’t mean like that,” Gansey says, then, “is it like that?” 

 

“No,” Ronan hisses, “no. We’ve - God. Gans. Stop. I don’t know what’s going on, ok? Nothing’s going on. Not really. Just. Yeah.” 

 

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Gansey says. 

 

“Is it breakfast time?” Adam asks. 

 

-

 

It was breakfast time. They have left over Hangi in between slices of white bread, slathered with tomato sauce, and paired with huge mugs of coffee. Aisling is on Gwen’s lap, having her own breast milk breakfast, and Ronan tries not to stare too much because he’s only staring at Aisling but it would probably look like he was staring at the ...boob. 

 

While they all have breakfast, the Abbots have more questions. Some Ronan can answer, some Declan can, some Gansey can, some Adam can, some none of them can and Fergus puts more coffee on. After Aisling’s finished drinking, Gwen hands her over wordlessly to Ronan who takes her immediately, propping her on his shoulder for burping. It’s only been over night, but he already feels deprived of holding her. He thinks again how if he were the Abbots, he wouldn’t be able to bear letting anyone else hold her after missing her for so long. He doesn’t think it with suspicion now, though. He’s pretty sure he trusts them. Adam seems to, and they haven’t given them any reason not to, and they seem to love Aisling. So. 

 

They answer a million and one questions. They drink a fuck load of coffee. Aisling falls asleep in Ronan’s arms, one of her little hands gripping tight to Adam’s finger. Ronan wants to go back to bed, with Aisling. Funnily enough, that appears to be on the agenda. 

 

“We were wondering,” Gwen says, with a glance at Fergus, and then to Ronan and sleeping Aisling, “if you could demonstrate. Your… dreaming. So we have more of an idea of what to expect. We’ve seen bits of what little Ais can do, but, of course, she can’t explain any of it.” 

 

Declan looks a little stiff at this request, but he doesn’t appear to be about to say no, so Ronan nods. 

 

“I have - I could,” he starts, a little haltingly, “I have dreamed into Aisling’s dream before, so I could tell you a little about what her dreams are like. But yes. I could… I could try and dream something physical for you. I’m not sure … I’ve never been so far from home. I’m not sure if I will still be able to … to create -” he stops and looks first to Gansey, and then to Adam. 

 

They had done a little research about invercargill, and New Zealand Ley lines, trying to decipher if perhaps Aisling had dreamed so easily into Ronan’s dreams because they had been on a corresponding line. They hadn’t found anything very useful yet, all the Ley line maps had been haphazard, or, in a different language. Māori. They didn’t know enough of the terrain or the history or anything of the country to be able to decipher the lines yet. 

 

“I think,” Adam says then, “it’s hard to tell, because I’m not… this isn’t the same feeling as Cabeswater - but I’m pretty sure I can still, if I concentrate hard, feel the pulse of the Ley. Very faint. Like it’s asleep? Maybe. Or far away. Hard to tell. But. I think you might be able to.” 

 

“If you scry,” Ronan mumbles back at him, “maybe you could focus my dreaming. I mean - obviously you can manifest objects from dreams here seeing as Aisling has - ?”

 

Gwen and Fergus nod, not quite following, but appearing to understand at least bits and pieces. Gansey looks a little nervous. 

 

“I could try, yeah,” Adam agrees, think you can sleep on demand like this?” 

 

“Yes,” Ronan says, then to Gwen, “do you have like… grape juice?” 

 

“Um,” Gwen says, “Gus?” 

 

“Yeah,” Fergus says, “um. Do you need it to sleep?” 

 

“No,” Adam says, “I need it to scry.” 

  
  


-

  
  


It is difficult to go to sleep while aware you’re being watched. It’s easier to go to sleep when you have a small soft baby asleep in your arms. 

 

He wakes up somewhere he doesn’t recognise. Aisling is still in his arms, but she’s awake here, because it’s a dream. He’s unsure who the dream belongs to, if it’s hers or his, because they’re in a forested looking area, trees, and undergrowth, and unfamiliar birdsong surrounding them, but it isn’t Cabeswater. It looks old, and unusual, the trees, like Cabeswater trees, look as if they have been growing untouched by humanity, for years upon years upon years. Some feathered thing hops though the underbrush. Aisling gurgles in his arms. 

 

“What should we take out?” he asks her. She isn’t interested in helping out, she’s just reaching up to hook her fingers into his mouth. “How much of this is your dream, baby?” he asks her, lifting one hand to pull her hand out of his mouth and kisses her fingers. “Is this just what the lines look like here?” 

 

“It looks a lot like what my research says New Zealand native bush is like,” Adam’s voice says from behind them. 

 

Ronan turns, feet dragging through long grass. Adam is crouched in the same grass, fingers pressing into soft damp looking soil, eyes fixed on the canopy of trees above. 

 

“You did research of the native bush?” Ronan asks, tries to sound sarcastic. Can’t quite make it. 

 

Adam shrugs one shoulder, and then stands up. He takes two steps towards the two of them, and leans in against Ronan’s side, ostensiby to lean in to kiss Aisling’s forrid, possibly to simply be leaning in against Ronan.  

 

“Ley lines are connected to places of spiritual significance,” Adam says to Ronan, shifting until his head is resting on Ronan’s shoulder, “but we don’t know much of what is spiritually significant here. We don’t know what the lines think are relevant. Maybe this is how they look for everyone, maybe this is how they look because of what I think about Ley lines.”

 

“Could be a fun mystery for Gansey to try and solve,” Ronan says. 

 

“What do you want to take?” Adam says. 

 

“I don’t really,” Ronan admits, “I don’t - this isn’t - what if it doesn’t want me to take anything?” 

 

“You could ask?” Adam suggests. 

 

“I can’t speak the language here,” Ronan says, “I doubt this forest speaks Latin. So - I can’t ask. And I don’t want to like… cause a magical international issue by stealing from someone else's forest.” 

 

“Maybe Aisling could choose something,” Adam says. 

 

They sit down, the three of them, in the long grass, and Ronan balances Aisling in his lap, holding her upright while Adam encourages her to reach out into the long grass.

 

There’s a long feather balanced there, an unusual looking feather. Ronan can’t decide if it is unusual because it is a dream or unusual because it is New Zealand. Either way, it’s what Aisling appears to be intrigued by because she is trying her darndest to coordinate her chubby hands into grabbing it. When she does finally get her fingers hooked around it, Ronan lifts her more into his lap, leaning her in against his chest, and curls his fingers around hers as well, so they are holding the feather together. He memorises the way it feels in his hand. The patterning of it. The stiffness, the softness. He nods at Adam, and Adam pulls away and out of the dream as easily as someone pushes up and out of water. 

 

Ronan blinks, then blinks again, and when he blinks a third time, he is blinking into the soft electrical light of the Abbots lounge. Aisling is bundled up still in his arms, his hand around her hand, a feather tickling at the skin on his neck. Aisling is still mostly asleep, yawning a little. 

 

“Oh,” Gwen says, when Ronan finally pushes up into a more upright position and hands the feather over, “oh. This is - oh.” 

 

“Will you tell us what it’s like?” Fergus asks, “Wherever it was you went to get this?” 

 

“Sure,” Ronan says, yawns as well, “ok.” 

  
  


-

  
  


It’s harder than he expected it would be to say goodbye to Aisling and the Abbots. He had already expected it to be painfully hard, so this is just terrible. They’re all hugged, kissed, ‘hongi-ed’, and hugged again. They’ve got the Abbot’s phone numbers, address, email, skype, etc, etc, as well as, of course, direct dreaming line to Aisling. Hopefully. But Ronan still feels ill, like this goodbye is too big. 

 

Fergus drives them to the airport, waves them goodbye. They board. They fly to Auckland. Their connecting flight leaves half an hour after they land. They fly to Sydney. They have an hour wandering around the airport there. They fly to San Fran. Gansey and Declan sleep in the row behind him. Adam sleeps in the seat beside Ronan. Ronan, in the darkness and semi privacy of a sleeping plane, lets himself cry just a little bit. Adam takes his hand, carefully, shifts, against the uncomfortable plane rest, and leans in against Ronan’s shoulder. He doesn’t say anything, which Ronan appreciates, because he doesn’t want to talk about it. 

  
  


-

  
  


Gansey doesn’t bring it up until after they’re home. After they’re home, and Adam’s back at his flat, and Declan’s left, and they’ve eaten and showered. Ronan is hovering. He knows he’s hovering. He’s waiting for Gansey to talk. 

 

Gansey, sitting on the couch, scrawling in his journal, looks up at him, eyebrows raised. He also knows Ronan is hovering. 

 

“You and Adam figure out what you guys were?” he asks. 

 

Ronan shrugs, abandons his hovering to drop himself onto the couch beside Gansey. 

 

“Not with words yet, huh?” 

 

“When would we have had the chance, too?” Ronan replies, we’ve been surrounded by you guys the whole time.” 

 

“What is the plan, then?” Gansey asks. Eyes narrow, small smile on. 

 

“I dunno,” Ronan says. “Something nice?” 

 

Gansey laughs a little. “Ok,” he says, “sure. Sounds good. You doing… ok?” 

 

“Piss up a rope,” Ronan replies, then softens a little. “Yeah. It’s weird. Not having her here.” 

 

“She wasn’t here for long,” Gansey points out. 

 

“She was very important the whole time, though,” Ronan points out back. 

 

Gansey concedes the point. He closes his journal. 

 

“Will you try to dream to her tonight?” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, “maybe.” 

 

“Will you talk to Adam soon?” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, “maybe.” 

 

-

 

6 YEARS LATER 

 

-

 

“Ok,” Ronan says. He’s sitting cross legged on a fallen tree trunk. He knows now exactly how different his place is to Cabeswater. He even knows the names of the trees, and the birds, and the insects around him. Aisling has taught him them as her parents had taught her. “Ok, tell me again. Tahi -- Rua -- Toru -- and?” 

 

“Whā!” Aisling tells him, leaping to her feet and holding four fingers up. She’s surrounded by little blossoms of light, some perched in her dark curly hair, some flickering between her and Ronan. “Tahi, rua, toru, whā! Silly!”

 

Ronan grins at her. “Ah yes,” he says, “silly me. How far can you count in Māori then?” 

 

Aisling flumps back down onto the wood next to him, causing a flutter of tiny white butterflies to puff up around her. “Uh - um I can - I can - I am - I have - um - rua…tekau.... ma… ono!” 

 

“So good!” Ronan tells her. 

 

“Ka pai,” Adam offers. He’s standing a few feet away, keeping an eye on Chainsaw in her explorations. “That’s how you say good, yeah, Ais?” 

 

“Ka pai!” Aisling returns, her grin somehow toothy and gappy at the same time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to come yell at me about shit/ask me about Māori or whatever here etoilearden.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! If you like my writing feel free to come yell at me on my Tumblr etoilearden.tumblr.com


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